


the hands of fate

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: He believed what he had with the others was a family. A home. But all that changes when he meets her.What is meant to be just another supply run quickly changes everything when Daryl meets a lonely stranger.(an AU where carol was never with the original atlanta group)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> _an AU where carol was never with the original atlanta group_

The truck groans and stutters as he pulls it into the parking lot of the small grocery store. Once framed by neat hedges, everything is overgrown by now. The asphalt cracked from the summer's heat, a few useless, beaten down cars his only company.

 

Grabbing the crossbow from the passenger seat, Daryl climbs out of the truck. His legs feel stiff after the long drive and he wishes even more he could have taken the bike.

 

But they need supplies. More than he can carry on the back of his brother's old Triumph and Glenn had backed out from the run this morning, muttering something about Maggie.

 

It ain't none of his business, and he prefers being out here on his own anyway. Nobody here with the endless need to talk to fill the silence. Glenn's all right, though. Most of the others are. He wouldn't still be around if they weren't. Not after everything.

 

Locking up the car behind himself, Daryl takes a look around. There's a stray walker all the way over on the other side of the road - not worth wasting a bolt on. Nothing else here shows any sign of life. It's deserted as it can be.

 

Most of the store's windows have been smashed, so whatever is still inside can't be worth much.

 

Still. He has to try.

 

With an exhausted sigh he bangs his fist against the front door. Leans against the pale green wall and waits.

 

But there's no shuffling inside, no sign of more walkers. It's dead silent except for the soft rustling of the leafs and the occasional sound of a bird fluttering past.

 

Slowly, he pushes open the door, crossbow aimed high. Broken glass crunches beneath his boots as he takes a cautious step inside. Just like he expected, all the shelves are mostly wiped clean. A foul stench fills the place from where a few things were left behind in the fresh produce section long ago. Rotting away now.

 

He keeps an eye on the aisles as he checks what little is left. A box of crackers. A bag of cheese flavored potato chips. Salad dressing. Hair ties.

 

Not even close to what people expect him to bring back. They're at a good place. Have enough food to feed everyone they have taken in. Are growing their own vegetables. But there's always a need for more.

 

With a pang of disappointment, Daryl shoves his meager findings into the backpack he brought. There's very little in it. Two packets of aspirin from a pharmacy he checked out a few miles down the road. Socks, paper towels and gum from a deserted car by the side of the road.

 

He can't go back to the prison with just this.

 

The sudden sound of muffled footsteps at the back of the store makes him tense, and he drops the baby wet wipes he'd been about to grab for Judith.

 

 _Come out!_ he hollers, crossbow aimed as he takes a few steps closer to the source of the sound. His body is tense as he rounds the corner of the aisle, finger firm on the trigger.

 

It's a woman who stands next to the door to the back office. Short, gray hair, heavy boots strapped over her cargo pants. She holds her hands up in the air, a defeated expression on her face.

 

She doesn't even try to run.

 

 _Ya got a gun?_ he asks, gruff and suspicious. There's a knife strapped to her thigh, but he sees no other weapon. A small backpack lays on the ground by her feet, out of her reach.

 

 _No,_ she replies, taking a step back when he takes a step closer.

 

_Anyone else here?_

 

 _It's just me._ His eyes narrow but he can't do much more than believe her right now. He should have checked the back right away. Was an idiot not to.

 

 _I don't have much,_ she says then, her throat bopping as she swallows deftly. _Just some cans of soup and a few painkillers. There's some duct tape in there, too. And some water._ She's nodding towards the backpack on the ground as she talks.

 

But her words make him feel a little nauseous.

 

 _Ain't gonna steal ya shit,_ he grunts, and it's her turn to narrow her eyes at him.

 

_What else then?_

 

She's implying something and it takes him a second to realize what it is. She's bargaining. Willing to offer him whatever the fuck he wants in exchange for her life - all without showing a trace of fear.

 

 _The hell ya think I am?_ he asks, more than slightly offended that she assumes he's the kind of bastard to take from her whatever the hell he wants.

 

 _What do you want then?_ The confusion she hadn't been able to hide just a second ago is now well hidden, her words almost cold.

 

 _Ain't gonna take your shit,_ he repeats. _Ain't gonna- Jesus._ With a disbelieving groan he lowers the crossbow. She flinches slightly at the movement, following him with her eyes. So blue he can make it out even from a few feet away.

 

Suddenly, he wishes Glenn had come after all. Talking to new people comes easier to him. He's easy to like. Not like him.

 

 _So, 's really just you?_ he asks. _Ain't got a group somewhere?_

 

Slowly, she lowers her hands and shakes her head. _It's just me._ She sounds sincere enough for him to believe her but her words fill him with a very faint sadness that he shakes off as soon as he feels it.

 

He's never liked being around a bunch of people. Hated how awkward and uncomfortable it made him feel all his life. But with the world the way it is now, he can't imagine being on his own. As much as he enjoys the solitude and quiet of his hunts and these supply runs, there's something comforting about knowing he has a place to return to. People to return to.

 

People who tolerate him. Who don't look at him like he's nothing but trash. People who have come to maybe even respect him a little – or at the very least are replying on him.

 

He's no fool. Knows very well that he's easily replaced and that nobody there has a special fondness of him. But it's more than he's had his whole life, this group of people. At the end of days, he's not going to start being choosy.

 

 _I got a group,_ he says then. Always cautious to make offers to strangers. But the prison wouldn't be what it is today if they hadn't opened their gates for outsiders. It's the only way anything can grow. Especially now.

 

The woman listens carefully, her lips slightly pursed. She's tough to read. Looks meek and lost but there's something else hidden under the pale ivory canvas of her skin. Something hard and determined that makes her stance strong and her eyes sharp.

 

_We got a place. Couple hours from here. 's good. Plenty o' people. Food. We're growin' stuff, too. Got a doctor, beds, showers._

 

She doesn't reply, and he nervously shifts his weight on the linoleum floor, covered in scratches and dust.

 

 _Could take ya back there,_ he offers. The only reason he's not ducking his head is because he needs to keep an eye on her. He doesn't trust her yet. Hell, he hardly trusts anyone. But he feels a blush creeping into his cheeks as she looks at him. _If ya wanna._

 

 _Just like that?_ It's clear she doesn't believe him. But her voice has grown a little softer.

 

_Got three questions first._

 

She raises her brows, and he can see there's some comment waiting at the tip of her tongue but she bites it back. _What questions?_ she asks instead. Not giving away if she's even interested in his offer.

 

 _How many walkers have ya killed?_ By now, the words slip easily from his tongue. Like a mantra.

 

She sighs, shrugs her shoulders. _I don't keep count. A lot._

 

It's a decent enough answer. Nobody ever knows a number, that ain't what it's about unless the answer is none. They don't need nobody who can't defend themselves.

 

_How many people have ya killed?_ The question always leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Reminding him of the lives he has taken. Actual lives.

 

The woman visibly tenses. Suddenly, she seems to have a high wall around herself. Cold and distant. But there's something else there, too. Haunting her eyes like a ghost.

 

 _One,_ she breathes, looking through him rather than at him at this point. A small part of him feels bad for reminding her of whatever happened. Knows how difficult it can be to dwell on those deeds.

 

But he has one last question to ask.

 

_Why?_

 

For a split second, her eyes flicker down to the ground. Fear shimmers in them, but it hardly lasts long. By the time she looks up again it has been replaced by defiance.

 

_Because he deserved it._

 

It's a more honest answer than most people give, but it doesn't help him understand. He hates making these decisions alone. But he has to make a choice now. There's no time for much hesitation, not anymore. And the thought of her out here all alone is one that makes him shudder.

 

_What's your name?_

 

She tilts her head a little to the side. _That's four._

 

_Huh?_

 

 _Four questions,_ she clarifies. _You said you only had three._

 

He wants to roll his eyes, feeling irritated already and not bothering to comment back.

 

 _Ya gonna tell me or not?_ he asks again.

 

She is quiet for a moment. Looks him up and down like she's looking for something. Clearly, she doesn't trust him and he gets it. He doesn't trust her either. It's the smart thing to do. But there isn't much more he can do to convince her to give this a chance.

 

 _Nancy,_ she replies then. It's a lie, he knows immediately. In this world, there's no real reason to keep her real name a secret and he narrows his eyes at her in confusion as to why she would try. His hand curls a little tighter around the crossbow.

 

_Nancy, huh?_

 

She nods, both of them immobile. The silence between them is thick. Full of doubt and tension.

 

 _Ya wanna come?_ he asks then, eager to get this over with. To either take her with him or get the rest of the trip done. Nobody has declined before. At least not after Glenn sugarcoated what they have at the prison. It beats living on the road by a stretch but it's hardly the luxurious resort he sometimes paints it as.

 

When she shakes her head, it takes him by surprise. _No, thank you._

 

His eyes widen a little. _Ya serious? Ya rather wanna be out here alone?_

 

Her sigh is soft and slightly defeated. _I've done well enough on my own,_ she explains quietly. There's a sadness that tints her voice which he did not notice before, and it makes his heart stutter. Makes him wonder just long she's been on her own. Makes him want to convince her to come with him even more.

 

 _Ain't safe out here,_ he tries weakly, remembering the offer she had made him and knowing there's people out here who would not have declined. Who would not have even waited for her to make the offer in the first place.

 

People who just take.

 

 _It's not safe anywhere._ He wants to argue with her but ultimately has to admit to himself that she's right. And if she'd rather be out here, then that's her choice.

 

 _Have it your way then,_ he mutters, shrugging his shoulders. But he doesn't know how to proceed. If he should just walk out. Leave her be. If he should offer her something. One of the two guns he has strapped to his belt.

 

It feels wrong to just leave her like this.

 

Maybe she notices his hesitation because her features grow soft and the slightest hint of a smile curls her lips. _Thank you, though,_ she murmurs, sweet and kind. _For offering. Not everyone would ha-_

 

They both duck to the ground when a gunshot tears through the store, the bullet hitting the shelf next to Daryl's head. Wood splinters and scatters to the ground as he fumbles for his gun, heart racing in his chest.

 

 _The fuck-_ he mutters, narrowing his eyes at the woman who is kneeling a few feet away from him. _Ya lied? Those your people?_

 

Furiously, she shakes her head. _No. It's just me, I swear._

 

There's genuine fear in her eyes so he makes the choice to trust her on this. He doesn't really have any other option anyway.

 

 _Come out, assholes!_ a man hollers from the front of the store. _This place ain't yours. 's ours._

 

Daryl raises up a little, enough to catch a glimpse of two armed men coming their way. He turns to look at the woman. _There a door out back?_ he asks, nodding towards the office door but she shakes her head. _Damn it._

 

There's no getting out of this. Not when those two bastard fire two shots at the ceiling. The lamps break, glass raining down on them. They barely have time to shield their faces. It lands in their hair, tiny little crystals that cling to soft strands.

 

_Come on, gonna make it quick for ya!_

 

Daryl can feel his blood boiling, knuckles pushing through as he drops the bow and grabs his gun instead.

 

 _Stay down,_ he whispers to her, ignoring the warning, desperate shake of her head.

 

He stays mostly behind a large shelf when he takes his first shot, hitting one of the bastards straight in the quest. He falls instantly, but it's enough warning for the other one to duck behind a counter.

 

 _Son of a bitch!_ he roars, and then he's opening fire like he has nothing left to lose. Daryl throws himself to the ground as the bullets fly through the store, shattering glass and wood, his ears throbbing from the noise.

 

From his periphery, he can see the woman flat on the ground as well. The urge to crawl over there and cover her hits him like a ton of bricks but he can't move. It wouldn't be safe now.

 

Then, suddenly, it's quiet. Splinters still rain down on then like smoke on a battlefield.

 

Asshole must be out of bullets.

 

This might be the only chance he has.

 

He's on his feet a second later, gun ready as his entire body turns into a live wire. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as he moves with quick steps towards the counter where the bastard hid. Staying close to the shelves, his breath ragged.

 

But when he rounds the counter, the guy is gone. Bullet shells are scattered on the floor like confetti, the heavy gun left behind. He should have heard him move, should have-

 

_Watch out!_

 

It happens too quickly for him to react. He freezes when he turns and sees the bastard's smile and the barrel of another gun aimed straight at him. Hears the shot ringing in his ears. Feels two small hands grabbing his shirt and pulling, feels the weight of a light body barreling him to the ground.

 

The unexpected impact knocks the air out of his lungs, his back aching when it hits the ground. She lands on top of him, barely weighing a thing but enough to make the impact worse.

 

It only takes a second before more shots are fired at them. Before he realizes what even happened. He has no time to process what she did.

 

She's not moving off him though and he needs to get up, so he shoves at her shoulders until she moves. He doesn't even wait until she's properly on her knees by his side before he's on his feet again.

 

He shoots without a second of doubt and hesitation. Fueled by rage because that fucker almost killed them both. Opened fire for no goddamned reason.

 

It only takes him one shot to hit the bastard between the eyes and he slumps to the ground like a lifeless pile of meat. The echo of the shot rings through the store, no doubt drawing in any nearby walkers.

 

 _Bunch o' assholes,_ he grumbles, putting his gun back into its holster. Groaning at the ache in his back from where he landed. Only now does realization slowly dawn on him. Now that the adrenaline slowly fades and his mind becomes clearer.

 

She saved his life. A stranger. For no obvious reason. He'd have taken more than one bullet when that bastard fired at him from behind. Would have been dead on the ground now in a pool of his own blood.

 

 _Ya saved me,_ he states a little blankly, not sure what to say and how to handle this when he turns to look at the woman. Nancy. Or whatever her real name may be. _Why'd ya-_

 

His question dies on his tongue when he sees her. She's still kneeling on the ground, staring at him wide-eyed and panicked. Her breathing is shallow and quick as she clutches her hand to her stomach, but the crimson of her own blood is already soaking through the white shirt she's wearing.

 

 _Fuck,_ he hisses, falling down on his knees by her side. Grabbing her wrist to pull her hand away but she won't budge. _Lemme check,_ he pleads, suddenly desperate all over again.

 

This can't be happening.

 

One look over her shoulder tells him the bullet went straight through. But he can't tell much more than that. Has no clue if she's going to die right here or if he has time to take her back to the prison.

 

When she all but collapses into his arms, his stomach turns.

 

 _Hey, hey, easy,_ he says, trying to stay calm as she struggles to get back up. It only takes a little encouragement for her to fall back, and he holds her up as best as he can. She feels like a feather in his arms.

 

 _Gotta keep pressure on that._ Grabbing the red cloth from his back pocket he pushes it against her hand until she moves it away enough for him to cover the wound. Warm blood instantly coats his hand.

 

 _Why'd ya do that?_ he asks, his voice hoarse. _Why'd ya save my life?_

 

A soft, little smile curls her lips. She already looks so much paler than she did before. Somehow far away and yet right here.

 

 _Because you wanted to save mine,_ she whispers, looking up at him so softly. Like she's somehow grateful he's here and he doesn't understand. If it wasn't for him, none of this would've happened in the first place.

 

But he doesn't try to argue with her. It's too late for that now anyway and he doesn't want to upset her.

 

 _What's your name?_ he asks instead. Quiet and almost remorseful. He needs to know the truth.

 

 _You didn't even tell me yours,_ she replies, not commenting on the fact that he saw through her earlier lie.

 

He exhales slowly. _Daryl. 's Daryl._

 

Her fleeting smile turns into a wider one. _I'm Carol,_ she tells him, huffing with a soft laugh before her face contorts with pain.

 

_What's so funny?_

 

Her eyes are so deep when she looks up at him. Blue as the summer sky and yet clouded with sadness and secrets.

 

_It rhymes._

 

He can't hold back a snort at that, and his heart leaps a little when she smiles in return. After all, he hasn't made a whole lot of people smile quite that easily in his life.

 

_Yeah. Guess it does._

 

It's quiet after that. There's faint moaning outside but the few walkers who were attracted by the noise don't seem to be getting inside of the store.

 

Carol grows paler by the second. Her fingers curled loosely against her belly and so he takes over. Applies more pressure to her wound. _We gotta go,_ he decides. He'll take her back to the prison. Drive as fast as he can and maybe, just maybe she'll make it.

 

But Carol shakes her head. _It's all right,_ she whispers, an almost hazy quality to her voice. _It's all right._

 

 _Hell no,_ he insists. _Ain't just gonna leave ya here._ He sits her up as gently as he can, surprised when he feels the outline of a small gun tucked into the back of her pants. Whatever offer she made him earlier clearly wouldn't have ended the way he expected.

 

 _I'm-_ she starts, but her voice falters. He can see it in her eyes though. The distance. A clarity overcomes him like icy water. She doesn't want to be saved.

 

Maybe he's an ass for doing it anyway. Maybe he's being selfish when he gathers her into his arms, grabs his things and heads out, past the walkers and to the truck. Maybe he's doing the wrong thing knowing it's not what she wants.

 

But he can't just leave her behind. He couldn't before, and he sure as hell can't now.

 

Just stay awake, all right? he murmurs as he carefully sits her down in the passenger seat. Almost frantically, he pulls the paper towels from his backpack. Stuffs them against her wound and wraps his vest around her as tight as he can.

 

She moans in pain, a pale hand clutching at his arm.

 

 _Daryl...,_ she whispers, but her eyes are growing heavy and he knows time is running out.

 

 _Hey,_ he breathes, framing her pale cheeks in his bloodstained hands. Their speckled with so many freckled, lie constellations of stars. _Stay with me, all right? Gonna get ya home. Ya gonna be just fine._

 

Deep down, he begs and prays that he's right.

 


	2. two

She's so pale. Had been even before. Like freckled ivory spanned over her bones. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Thin arms and delicate shoulders.

 

But now her skin looks sickly. Damp with cold sweat, almost translucent. Hints of blue like shadowed bruises that he wants to soothe away.

 

There's nothing he can do, though. She lost too much blood, the sticky warmth of it now a permanent stain in the passenger seat of the truck. Her breaths are shallow and labored even though she's been asleep for well over a day now. It's still not enough rest.

 

All he can do is wait. Right here by her side where he hasn't strayed since he brought her here.

 

His own back aches - both from their fall and from sleeping in the metal chair by her bed all night long. Only half asleep, listening for every breath. Ready to get the doctor the moment she shows signs of discomfort.

 

Caleb doesn't have much hope. When he comes to check in on her every other hour, he looks somber. Wears sorrow on his sleeve and offers Daryl a pitiful smile.

 

_She lost a lot of blood, Daryl,_ he tells him again, the midday sun flooding the infirmary with a bright, warming light through the small, barred windows. _There's no more I can do for her._

 

It's hard to accept but Daryl knows they have limited resources. Are fortunate to have a doctor at all. But they can't give her blood transfusions or fluids, can't feed her to get her strength up. He has to accept that.

 

Hoping and praying, that's all they can do. But that's not worth a damn thing in his book.

 

_She ain't dead yet,_ he mutters in return, eyes fixed on her sleeping face. Looking tired and exhausted despite the stillness.

 

_No,_ Caleb sighs, pressing his hand to her forehead. _Not yet._

 

Shit, he never even thought she'd make it to the prison alive. No matter how hard he pushed, the truck seemed to move at a snail's pace. With every mile they drove he lost more and more hope.

 

All he could do was drive. Fast and hard and barely keeping an eye on the road.

 

Carol had been barley conscious, eyelids heavy and her breaths ragged and shallow. She'd whispered something over and over but he couldn't make out what it was.

 

Desperate. That's how he felt. Helpless and to blame for what happened to her. He almost saw himself carrying her lifeless body into the woods. Finding a quiet place for her to rest. To dig a grave for a stranger. Maybe find a flower somewhere. But he shook off those festering thoughts. Ain't nobody got use for flowers, especially not dead people, anyway.

 

There'd been so much blood. So much that the stench of it filled the car, draining from her body and turning her skin like that of a ghost.

 

He'd taken her hand in his after a while, squeezed and told her to hold on. That they were almost there. That she'd be fine.

 

When she passed out a minute later, he believed that what he told her were just lies. But when he drove through the prison gates, she still had a weak pulse. Like the prayers he sent to a god he never believed in were actually heard.

 

She was still breathing on her own and he didn't even bother turning off the truck. Pulled her out and into his arms and ran. Past a confused Rick and other staring people until he found Caleb.

 

_Ya gotta save 'er,_ he'd said breathlessly when he stormed into the infirmary. Caleb's eyes greeting him wide and worried at the sight of the half-dead stranger in his arms. _She saved me. Save 'er._

 

* * *

 

His neck cracks as he tilts it to the side, feeling stiff as a board from head to toe. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, the light in the room growing dim and fatigue tugging at his lids. But he's far from tempted to leave. The thin mattress in his cell is hardly a step up from the metal chair he's occupying now. He won't find rest there anymore than he will here.

 

His stomach growls quietly, reminding him of how damn hungry he is. Last time he ate was when he made a quick trip to the bathroom hours ago, grabbing a small packet of trail mix from the kitchen area. Nobody had bothered to bring him dinner and he didn't want to leave to grab a plate. Now, though, his fingers begin to tremble, his stomach clenching.

 

They have all gone much longer without food. The prison is spoiling them, making them grow too accustomed to regular meals. Maybe this will do him some good.

 

He's lost in that thought when Carol suddenly stirs. Just a soft, barely noticeable frown at first. A flutter of her pale fingers against the white sheets. The quiet exhale of a shuddering breath.

 

Instantly, he scoots closer. With intent, he watches as she slowly gains consciousness, no doubt fighting an onslaught of pain and exhaustion.

 

Quickly enough, her breath turns sharp and uneven, a pained groan passing her lips.

 

_Easy,_ he whispers, and she must have heard him. Her eyes start to flutter as her fingers curl into the sheets, head turning into his direction.

 

It takes her a moment to really open them, even the dim light of dusk not gentle enough for her sensitive eyes. There are tears glistening in them as she looks at him, brows furrowed in pain and confusion.

 

_Y'all right,_ he reassures her quietly, hands pressing into the mattress, unsure where to put them. _'s safe here._

 

She doesn't recognize him. Instead, her eyes widen and she moves frantically, trying to sit up and get away but crying out in pain as she does.

 

Panic surges through him as well. Fear that she'll tear the stitches, that she'll bleed again. At this point, she can't loose any more blood than she already has. She's barely hanging on and the only reason she's moving so fast right now is the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

 

_Hey, easy,_ he repeats, resting a cautious hand on her shoulder. The touch seems to sear through the thin shirt Maggie put on her, and she edges away. This time, though, the pain is too strong and she collapses back onto the bed helplessly.

 

_Carol._ The sound of her name startles her and she stills. Blue eyes stare up at him as his heart beats a frantic rhythm matching her labored breaths. He can only imagine how afraid she must be. _Ya gotta take it easy. Got shot._

 

Her eyes narrow, but then he can pinpoint the exact moment her memories return to her through the cloud of panic, shock and exhaustion that kept them at bay before.

 

_Daryl?_ Her voice falters even on such a short word, barely more than a cracked whisper. But it's the sweetest sound and a weight falls off his shoulders that he hardly noticed before.

 

He nods slowly, forcing his lips into a weak, pathetic half-smile. _Yeah. Wasn't sure you'd remember._ His thumb finds its way to his mouth, teeth tugging nervously at the skin. _Took ya back here. Doc patched you up._ She's listening to him with weary eyes, every blink heavy and drawn out. _Lost a lot o' blood._

 

She doesn't give him a reply, seems too weak to form any more words. Already, he can see she's starting to fade from consciousness again. Her body too battered and broken, drained just from being awake.

 

_Gonna go get the doc._ He can't risk her condition changing without Caleb taking a good look at her and is on his feet a second later. But the touch of Carol's cold hand on his wrist holds him back. Nimble fingers curl around it, feeling light as a feather.

 

_Thank you,_ she rasps, so quietly that he has to strain and lean down to understand. He wants to ask her what she's thanking him for, especially because of her bone-chilling pleads to leave her be. But now is hardly the time for that, and her hand is already falling away, landing limply on the bed.

 

* * *

 

_Slow down, ya gonna throw up._ He puts the tall glass of water down on the bedside table, already half empty.

 

Carol sighs, her throat bopping as she swallows the last few drops. _I'm so thirsty,_ she croaks, her head heavy where it rests in the cradle of his palm. He'd tried piling pillows behind her back to help her sit, but she hadn't been quite strong enough to support her head yet.

 

_Got more than enough,_ he assures her, trying to offer her a kind smile. The muscles in his face aren't used to that, though, feeling stiff and rusty and it probably looks more like a grimace than anything else. _Just take it slow._

 

She nods weakly, the short silver curls of her hair tickling his palm. Maggie had helped her wash earlier, and the smell of peaches and cream fills his nostrils. Sweet and comforting. So much better than all the blood.

 

Clearing his throat, he reaches for the bowl of oatmeal he brought with him. _Gotta eat somethin'. Know it ain't much,_ he shrugs apologetically, eyeing the goop with a faint, embarrassed blush on his cheeks. _Doc said ya should start slow._

 

_It's fine,_ Carol reassures him, her own smile so natural compared to his. Knowing there's no use in handing her the bowl to hold up herself he puts the spoon to her mouth instead. She eagerly takes the offered food, humming like it's a gourmet meal when he knows very well it tastes like cardboard.

 

_Did you make it?_ she asks after the fifth spoon he feeds her. It's a strangely intimate thing to do. He knows nothing about her and yet here he is, holding her up and feeding her crappy oatmeal because there's nobody else he trusts to do it right. Because guilt still eats away at him like a parasite - guilt for putting her into this weak and dependent state.

 

_Nah,_ he replies, hoping that his slowly growing hair is long enough to hide the pink tips of his ears. _Got some people workin' the kitchen downstairs._

 

Carol nods, and for a little while they both sit in silence as she eats. When he sets down the empty bowl, she already looks tired to the bone. Gently, he lowers her head back onto the pillow, quickly pulling his hand away the moment it's not necessary anymore.

 

His pathetic movement doesn't go unnoticed and Carol eyes him with slightly furrowed brows for a moment. Like she's trying to see right through all his bullshit and into the depth of his soul where the answers to her question are like glaring neon signs.

 

She doesn't push though.

 

_How many people live here?_ she asks instead. If she had asked him anything else, he might have given in to his instinct to run and stay away from her. He brought her food, Caleb is confident she can pull through now if she rests and regains her strength. There's no logical reason for him to stay any longer.

 

_Couple dozen,_ he replies, picking at a loose seam at the knee of his jeans. _Been takin' in more recently. Started out with just a few._ As attentively as she's listening, he doesn't miss the way her face twitches in pain as she tries to get comfortable on the bed. _How's the pain?_ he ask, throwing a glance at the pain medication Caleb left out on the counter. She'd already taken a few, probably enough, but the urge to offer her more is hard to resist.

 

_Better,_ she replies, and the way she downplays the agony she must be in makes him pause. _I've had wor-_ She stops herself, eyes staring into his for a second before she looks down at her lap. _It's fine,_ she ends instead, quieter than before.

 

The silence that follows her words is almost deafening, and he wishes he could just get out of here and leave. But something makes him stay, and it's not just because leaving like that would be rude. That's not something that ever really bothered him before. For some reason though, he can't bring himself to be the same rough asshole around her that he pretends to be so often. That he learned to _be_ all his life.

 

It's Carol who eventually breaks the silence. _Thank you, Daryl._ It's a repeat of what she said to him when she woke up yesterday, but this time the words are louder and clearer. _For bringing me here._

 

Instantly, he thinks back to holding her in that store. Limp and bleeding out. All but begging him to leave her behind, almost like she was welcoming the promise of death. It makes it hard to believe her now. _Ya mean it?_ he asks, voice hoarse and the question a little rougher than he wishes it would be.

 

But she doesn't seem offended, thank God. He doesn't know why the thought of that bothers him. But it does.

 

For a heartbeat, she seems lost in thought, like he asked a question that deserved to be pondered. _I think I do,_ she replies softly, an unspoken echo to her words that gives him a chill. _I've been- It's been just me for a while now,_ she confesses, looking distant and far away. Lost in memories he has no hopes of sharing. _I didn't know if I wanted to- If being with other people was the right thing for me anymore._

 

_Were right not to trust me,_ he murmurs. He wouldn't have trusted himself, would probably have ended the conversation before any offer could have been made. But that's because he's crude and hot tempered. She's none of that.

 

_I did,_ she whispers, the words catching his attention. Just the idea of her trusting him is so ridiculous that he's ready to dismiss the notion but she is quick to correct herself. _I mean... I_ believed _you._

 

It still makes no sense to him but he accepts her words. He's not up for a debate and even if elaborate words were his strength he knows she needs rest right now. But his plans of leaving her be are quickly crossed when she speaks again, every word laced with fatigue.

 

_So, how long have you been here?_

 

_Since found this place,_ he answers, thinking back to that early summer day when he and Rick stumbled upon the prison. It had seemed like a mirage at the time. High fences and concrete walls, exactly what they needed after months of unsafe shelters and no place to call home. _Couple o' months ago._

 

Her soft nod gives way to a pained frown, but once again she hides it before he can offer her another pill. Her eyes drift over his face with a curious expression before settling on the small window above his head, covered in bars.

 

_It's my first time in prison,_ she quips, all light and melodic and he can't help but snort at the comment.

 

_Mine, too,_ he admits, and it earns him a quirk of the corner of her mouth that makes his limbs feel like jelly and nearly sends him flying off the chair like an idiot. _You'll get used to it._

 

The way she looks at him is something he's not used to. Without judgment or pity, without disgust. It feels like for once in his life he gets to start something with a clean slate, without his brother's influence or the taint of his name or past. He can be... He can be who he _wants_ to be with her. Deep down, there's a sense of starting over that settles warm in his gut.

 

If only it all hadn't come at such a great cost. His eyes take in the paleness of her skin and the way she tries to bite back her pain even as she starts to drift into unconsciousness.

 

It should have been easier, but it wasn't.

 

_Gonna get goin',_ he rasps, quiet enough not to startle her. All she does is make a whimpering little sound. Could mean anything and he's not skilled enough at reading her to figure out what it means.

 

_Ya just rest now,_ he murmurs, wishing he had something more meaningful to say and a softer voice to speak it. But things just are the way they've always been.

 

Except they aren't.

 

_Will you come back?_ Carol asks, a croaking whisper that makes him want to reach out and tuck her blanket a little tighter around her. But he doesn't. That ain't him and that certainly ain't _them_.

 

_If ya want me to._ The words burn like acid on his tongue because he's just given her a chance to run him into the ground by saying no. He half expects that word he has heard too often in his life, brazing himself.

 

But instead, her face relaxes. _I do._

 

Jesus, his heart skips a beat in his chest and cold sweat pearls on his brows.

 

_Dinner,_ he chokes, useless and like a fool. _I'll be back for dinner._

 

He's pretty sure she's already asleep, finding the rest she so desperately needs. But he makes the promise all the same before quietly slipping out of the room. Glancing at her one last time before closing the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will dive into Carol's POV a little later on in the story, just in case you have any questions about how she feels about this new situation. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this *hugs*


	3. three

He does bring her dinner. But not just that night. The next day, too. And the day after that. And the day after that one. Instead of sitting in a corner somewhere downstairs, chewing on his own venison stew, he takes two plates up to the infirmary.

 

She needs less and less help with each meal, but she's still weak and exhausted and it feels right for him to help her before digging into his own meal. Feels like he's earned it then.

 

He tells himself he's just keeping an eye on her. Maybe to make sure she's all right when Caleb can't always check in on her. Maybe to see if he read her all wrong and if she's not as harmless and good as he assumed. That's a ridiculous excuse though, and even he knows that.

 

Really, though, he has to reluctantly admit to himself that he genuinely enjoys her company. It's a foreign sensation - looking forward to spending time with someone when just a few days ago nothing excited him as much as the prospect of heading into the woods for a lonely hunt.

 

All his life he shied away from other people. Even now he keeps his head ducked in the hallways, barely makes conversation with the others. He has learned to blend in here over time but never quite figured out how to become a part of the unity they all form. The family they are becoming to one another.

 

With Carol, it all feels different. She's surprisingly easy to be around. Asking too many questions is not something she tends to do. Throwing him pitiful looks isn't either. Mostly, their time together is spend in silence as they eat, a few formalities exchanged. How her wound is healing. What he shot in the woods today.

 

He could talk to her, he thinks as he watches her take a sip of water. _Really_ talk to her. His tongue doesn't feel as tied as it usually does but he's still fumbling. What the hell is he supposed to talk about, anyway? The fucking weather? Some deep shit about the meaning of life or whatever the hell caused all this mess?

 

Instead, he cherishes the comforting silence she offers and the reassurance that he's doing something right by helping her and keeping her company.

 

It's the least he can do, although he's still convinced his company is the last thing she needs.

 

But she never sends him away.

 

* * *

 

Every day it becomes harder and harder to find a reason to stay even after they have both finished their food. When they sit in comfortable silence and let the taste of their dinner and the weight of a full belly settle around them.

 

Something is different about today. She's stronger, sitting up on her own. Needed much less help on his part. If any. He feels like maybe she's doing him a favor accepting his help sometimes. To make him feel at ease.

 

He's not sure how he feels about that.

 

Earlier, she asked him about _before_. What he did. Where he's from. He avoided answering those questions, pushed away the ugly truth.

 

That he did nothing, was nobody. That where he's from ain't a place but plain hell.

 

Now, though, with the pasta and sauce licked clear off their plates, he feels the weight of her questions settle on him more than the comfort of the moment ever could.

 

She wanted to know more about him and he denied her that. A dumb move on his part, he realizes now, just a second before his own question tumbles from his mouth.

 

_You been alone all this time?_

 

He wants to punch himself the moment the words give way to silence. Carol's brows furrow and the look she throws him is cautious. Surprised. Just because she wanted to know about him doesn't give him the right to ask about her. He should have known that. Should have kept his damn mouth-

 

_No,_ she replies then. Soft and a little broken as she looks down at the empty plate in her lap. Delicate fingers worrying the cracked ceramic. He waits with baited breath, watching her mind unraveling behind her shimmering blue eyes. _I was- I was with my husband when it started._ There's a heaviness to her words that strikes him as odd but he doesn't remark on it. There's more she has to say. Something that lingers heavily in the silence. _And our daughter._

 

It feels like a punch in the guts. The thought of her with a little girl by her side. Once. In the past. And what she says next only fills him with more dread for ever bringing it up at all.

 

_But they... They're gone now._ It's nothing but a cracked whisper, raw. So raw he can barely stand the sound of it.

 

_'m sorry,_ he rasps. It's hardly enough. But it's all he's got.

 

Carol smiles bitterly, a sight that looks crooked and wrong and when she scoffs it feels like he's looking at someone else. _Don't be sorry about Ed,_ she murmurs, voice filled with resentment. _He doesn't deserve it._

 

It prompts more questions. Countless of them. It also fills the room with a tension he hasn't felt in a long time. The kind that tugs at the knotted skin that criss-crosses his back. Old cuts and lashes that reverberate the same resentment he heard in her voice.

 

_He the one ya killed?_ he asks instead, remembering the answer she gave him back in the store. Just shy of a week ago.

 

It feels like a lifetime.

 

Carol nods, slow and measured. With no regrets.

 

Still, he feels like he needs to say something. Let her know he didn't mean to intrude, to probe. Let her knows he wishes this shitty world hadn't been this fucked for her. _Sorry 'bout your little girl then._ He never thought about having kids. Wasn't in the cards for him. Ever. And fuck, it was better that way. Bad blood and all.

 

He can't imagine what it's like losing your kid. Losing a part of yourself like that. Just the thought sends a shiver down his spine.

 

Carol is quiet for a moment, takes the plate and tries to set it down on the table next to her bed. But the angle is all wrong and she winces when it pulls at the stitches.

 

_Lemme do that,_ he mutters quickly, taking the plate from her. As he does, his fingers ghost over hers. So soft compared to his own. Their eyes meet for a brief moment as he lingers, little sparks of electricity prickling where they're connected.

 

Quickly though, he pulls away. Burned.

 

_Thanks,_ she whispers, and then that curious look is back in her eyes. Making them even brighter. _Do you have family?_ she asks cautiously when he puts the plate away, sitting back down in that damn uncomfortable chair.

 

The question burns even more than her touch had. Briefly, he considers shutting her out again. Deflecting the question or downright lying. But she told him the painful truth right now when she could have lied. What right does he have to be a coward now?

 

_Was always just me an' my brother,_ he replies, fingers worrying a loose seam on his jeans. _Merle._

 

The memory of his brother still hurts more than he's willing to admit. He'd been an asshole all his life. A useless bastard. But he'd been his brother still. Flesh and blood and in the end, his blood on his own hands tainted Daryl more than he ever thought. _He's gone, too._

 

_I'm sorry._

 

God, the sound of her voice whispering those words. Honest and genuine. They mean more than anything the others had said and done when he brought back Merle's dead body.

 

All the half-hearted words of condolences, the hands on his shoulder, the offers of helping him dig a grave for his brother. It all fades compared to her. Who had never met his dick of a brother. Still, he can see that she means it.

 

He scoffs, though. Quiet. Doesn't look her in the eyes. _Not sure he deserves it either._ His words are laced with the bitterness that always came with loving his brother and resenting the person he chose to be. _Was no saint._

 

Time seems to stand still for the briefest of moments. His words' echoes filling the room. When Carol speaks again, it's a sad whisper. _None of us are._

 

* * *

 

_You do these runs often?_

 

Her question catches him off guard, stopping him in his tracks just as he's heading out of the infirmary. Two empty bowls in his hands. He's going to be late if he doesn't move his ass soon.

 

_Hmm,_ he confirms, turning back around because he can't just walk out on her. She's sitting up in bed, already teasing the back of a worn book. Tom Sawyer or something. _Nice to get out,_ he continues, leaning against the edge of a table. _Don't do big ones like this often, though._

 

Today is different. They've been planning and preparing for this for a while now. Could be a goldmine, but it's more dangerous than usual. Fear isn't something he feels very often. Not for himself anyway. But he can't deny he slept uneasy last night, picked at his breakfast more than anything else.

 

Carol noticed, of course. And the way she's looking at him now, intent and with something that he thinks might be concern, drives heat into his cheeks.

 

_Probably ain't gonna make it back for dinner,_ he mutters, ignoring how ridiculous that sounds and quickly continuing before she can call him out on that. _Gonna tell Maggie to get ya somethin'._

 

He doesn't expect them to forget about Carol the way they sometimes tend to forget about him. But he's been the one to bring her food all week long so the thought might just not occur to them.

 

He needs to make sure someone is going to take care of her when he's not around. In case he-

 

_She was going to help me shower anyway,_ Carol points out, interrupting his train of thought that was growing increasingly dark.

 

He mutters an unintelligible reply, nods at her before turning away again. But once more, she holds him back.

 

_Daryl?_ she calls, the sound of his name on her lips doing something to him. It makes his stomach flutter and his palms go sweaty. Again, he lingers. Turns.

 

She looks a little shy, more than he thought her capable of. _Be careful,_ she breathes then, lips curling into a hesitant but sweet smile.

 

Like he actually matters. Like losing him would be an actual loss - when he's never been before.

 

 

 

He always calculates the risks. Maybe not as much as he should, but he's never been one to do that. He knows what he's getting himself into, knows there's a chance he won't make it out alive.

 

But they all have to die one day. It's never been more clear than it has been since the world went to shit.

 

Only, he didn't expect things to go this wrong. For the ceiling to collapse, for them to return with empty, blood-stained hands and without Zach.

 

Shit, he never should have allowed the kid to come along in the first place. Should never have taken the risk. Now he's gone.

 

 

 

His legs feel heavy as he walks away from Beth's cell, his shoulders tense. He walks without aim but somehow he's not surprised when he ends up in front of the infirmary.

 

Quietly, he pushes open the door. It's dark outside already, and for all he knows Carol is asleep by now. She still sleeps so much. Like a damn cat, he told her the other day with an awkward attempt at a smirk.

 

She'd laughed and the memory of that sound still makes his skin tingle.

 

But he's not greeted with darkness in the room. There's a candle burning on her bedside table, shadows dancing on the walls like ghosts.

 

_You're back,_ she gasps, sounding relieved. Even her body seems to relax into the bed a little more at the sight of him.

 

He lingers by the door, staring down at his boots. Mud and blood still on them. _You're still awake,_ he mutters, wondering if he had hoped she wouldn't be. Now that she's awake, he's trapped. If she had been asleep, he could have slipped away. Let his guilt eat away at him all night long like the darkness devouring the prison.

 

_Why did you come if you thought I wasn't?_ Carol asks, a gentle smile evident just in the sound of her voice. He doesn't have an answer to that and he doesn't bother scrambling to make one up. Instead, he shuts the door. _Daryl?_ There's more concern laced into her words now, his name a cautious and almost fearful question. _What happened?_

 

His exhale is sharp and drawn out, speaking of his exhaustion. Nervously, he puts his thumb to his lips, worries the already cracked skin with his teeth.

 

_Didn't-,_ he starts, the right words evading him. They've lost people before. Hell, people who he cared about more than Zach. And still, this one hits deep. _Shit,_ he grunts, shaking his head.

 

_Come here._ Carol's voice is soft and when he looks up, her face is bathed in the glow of the candle. Pale but warm, her eyes kind and the hand she holds out inviting.

 

With slow steps, he crosses the room and takes his familiar spot in the chair. There's a half empty packet of salty crackers on her nightstand, he notices - and he hopes she had more than just that for dinner.

 

_Do you want to talk about it?_ she asks, slowly lowering her hand back down to the bed and it's only then that Daryl starts to wonder if she offered it to him before. Just the thought of holding her hand again makes him blush. In the truck when he brought her here, it had been different. He'd tried to hold her together then.

 

Now, it would mean something different.

 

_Lost the kid,_ he says plainly, still confused and overwhelmed by the emotions that he feels. _Place was- I should've known._

 

He can't bear to look at her, to see the resentment that's surely etched onto her delicate face. He should go, never should have come here at all. Not for comfort or whatever else he hoped to find.

 

He flinches when suddenly, the feather light touch of delicate fingers on the back of his hand pulls him out of his stupor. His eyes flicker down, the contrast of her pale hand against his darker and calloused one so stark that it momentarily distracts him from what's happening.

 

But it only lasts a bare second before he pulls his hand away. The echo of her light touch, however, remains.

 

He can't quite tell if it's good or bad.

 

_Don't do that,_ Carol says, whisper soft and yet filled with determination. It's a skill, really. _Don't blame yourself. Whatever happened out there wasn't your fault._ He has a counter argument ready on the tip of his tongue despite the fire that's evident in her eyes. Is ready to tell her every little thing he could have done differently to ensure the kid's safety. But Carol beats him to it. _What happened to_ me _wasn't your fault, either._

 

It's a low blow and something he didn't expect. Not now. Maybe not ever. A part of him had hoped his guilt over what happened at the store would go unnoticed, that he'd maybe come across as caring and concerned. But who was he trying to fool?

 

He doesn't know what to say to that and is relieved when Carol doesn't seem to expect a reply. Instead, she offers him a tender expression. Soft and full of honesty. _I'm glad you're okay._

 

 

 

He still hears those words when he goes to bed an hour later. They're burned into his memory just like the touch of her fingers had been.

 

Over and over he replays them in his mind, sleep evading him. Again and again until suddenly, starkly, the gentle echo of her voice is replaced by a bone-chilling scream. Echoing through the concrete walls of the prison.

 

* * *

 

There's blood on him. Splatters warm against his skin, soaked into his shirt. Not much. But he can feel it more than usual as his legs push harder. Pushing past confused and scared people, shivering, afraid.

 

There's blood everywhere. Slick on the ground. The coppery stench of it filling his nostrils.

 

He doesn't know how this could have happened. They'd been so meticulous at keeping the walkers out of the prison, nobody ever made plans for what would happen should someone turn _inside_.

 

But it happened now, and the image of the dead bodies he nearly stumbled over is burned into his memory.

 

He'd done his best to help. To take out the walkers, usher panicked and restless people into the safety of their cells, grab that kid just in time. Jesus, that had been so close. But all the while, his mind had been solely focused on one thought.

 

Carol.

 

What if she...No. She was getting better, stronger. But what if one of the walkers strayed from the cell block to the infirmary? She was there all by herself, defenseless, weak. What if...

 

_Carol!_ he hollers as he runs down the hallway, approaching the infirmary on quick feet. His heart beats frantically, blood rushing in his ears. But he never makes it to the door. He rounds a corner, ignoring the dull pain when his crossbow slams repeatedly into his ribs, and there she is. Stumbling towards him. _Carol!_

 

Her eyes widen at the sight of him, hand coming out to press against the rough, concrete wall to support herself as she sways a little. Knees giving in right in front of him. _Shit,_ he grunts, rushing towards her as she takes one more weak step.

 

She falls into his arms with a sharp exhale, hands digging into his arms as he wraps them around her waist, holding her up against him before she can stumble to the ground. _You all right?_ he asks breathlessly, looking down at her - scanning her body for any sign of injury. _Hey, look at me!_

 

The sound of his voice sends a shudder through her body and he curses himself for being so harsh. But she does look up, eyes still full of panic.

 

_I'm fine,_ she replies, but the way her body feels limp and lifeless in his arms tells a different story. She's pale, wearing her boots over her sweatpants, untied and still coated in dust. _What happened back there?_ she asks, her hand finding purchase against his chest where she curls her fingers into his shirt. _I heard screams. Daryl? Is that-_ Her eyes widen when she feels the warm blood coating her hand. _Are you-_

 

He shakes his head. _'m fine._

 

The way some of the tension leaves her body, the relief that seems to wash over her, nearly makes his knees buckle. It's only now that he realizes how close she is, pressed against him, her forehead falling to his chest as she sighs. _What happened?_

 

His hands suddenly feel useless against her waist, holding her up with twitching, nervous fingers. _No idea,_ he replies hoarsely, distracted by the warmth of her in his arms. The scent of her hair, some silver curls tickling his jaw.

 

He shouldn't want her this close. Can already feel his body rejecting the closeness, a dull throb beneath the surface. But just for a second he allows himself to take this moment of reassurance that she's all right.

 

_Gonna find out. Come on,_ he says, pulling her a little more upright and putting some distance between them. _Gotta take ya back. Can't tear ya stitches._

 

She nods, but there's a wetness to her eyes that makes him stare holes into the ground. He's not used to people giving a shit about him. All the progress he believed he made since Atlanta seems like horseshit now.

 

Her fingers lightly squeeze his upper arm. _I'm glad you're okay,_ she whispers, the same words she told him just hours before.

 

Shit, he wants to say the same thing so, so badly. Wants to admit that he was scared as shit that he'd find her in a pool of blood, that he'd find her turned.

 

In the end, all he can do is nod as he walks them back to the infirmary. All his words lost in silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was quite busy lately but I hope to update a little more regularly from now on :)


	4. four

She doesn't have much. The knife and gun she carried. The clothes she wore - except the shredded blouse where the bullet tore through. A few other clothes they'd found for her. That _Tom Sawyer_ book she's always reading. It's a small amount, but as Daryl shoves it all into a bag he realizes that he doesn't own much more.

 

_'s just until we get this thing under control,_ he explains again, throwing a glance at her where she sits on the edge of the bed, shoes tied and ready to go. _Can't risk ya catchin' this._

 

Whatever the fuck had killed Patrick is spreading fast, and so far they are defenseless against it. Carol is already weak, still recovering, and he knows that if she comes down with this, she won't be able to fight it.

 

They need the infirmary more now. Caleb needs to come and go, and it's not safe for her to be here anymore. Getting her into a cell of her own, far away from anyone else, is all he could think about for hours. So that's what he told her.

 

When she accepted without protest, though, he'd been genuinely surprised.

 

Shoving the book into the bag and tying it up, he looks up at her.

 

_Sorry we ain't got a wheelchair or somethin',_ he mumbles, remembering vividly how she'd clung to him earlier, barely able to hold up her own weight. It's a long walk to the empty cell. _I could..._ His finger finds its way to his mouth, sharp teeth worrying the torn skin before he finds the guts to speak again. _Could carry ya._

 

Carol smiles, a twinkle in her eyes as she tilts her head ever so slightly to one side. _Well, I always wanted to feel like a princess,_ she quips. Somehow, she manages to sound dead serious even though he knows she's full of shit right now.

 

He blushes all the same. _Stop,_ he mutters, eyes cast down onto the plain tiled floor.

 

_It's fine, I can walk, Daryl,_ she reassures him then, patting the mattress on either side of her for a moment before slowly standing up.

 

He nods, but eyes her with caution for a moment. She seems steady enough, but he'll have to at least support her.

 

With a sigh, he pulls the red rag from out of his back pocket, tying it around his head to cover his mouth and nose.

 

Carol's eyes narrow in confusion. _What's that for?_

 

He stalls a few feet away from her, hands twitching against his thighs. _Don't wanna- I talked to him yesterday,_ he admits, the weight of it heavy on his heart. _Patrick._ It had been a brief conversation over breakfast but he'd bumped into the kid on the way out and- shit. For all he knows he's got the same goddamn thing inside him. _Don't wanna take a risk._ The expression on Carol's face is odd, something between concern and surprise. Delicate and raw. _What?_

 

It's almost like his words pull her out of a stupor. Visibly, she shakes herself, clearing her throat. _Nothing,_ she replies quickly, lips pursed. _Just-_ Her pause is long, his heart thundering in his chest as she stares at him with those damn blue eyes of hers. _Just be careful, all right?_

 

She keeps telling him that again and again, he realizes. Nobody else ever does. Nobody else cares enough to warn him. The others, they wouldn't mourn him if he died. They'd give him a funeral, say a few words, feel the sting of his loss. But they'd move on. He has no doubt the same is true for Carol. They're strangers after all. But there's hope, a tiny flicker of it, that she might care just a tiny bit more.

 

_Always am,_ he shrugs, holding his arm out for her to link with her own. Her bag slung over his shoulder, they start to make their way out of the infirmary. Slow, measured steps and as expected, she leans heavily onto him.

 

There's nobody in the hallway, which he's grateful for. Less risk of her getting sick.

 

Less reason for anyone to side-eye him. Nobody to see them together.

 

He heard the whispers about her. People making assumptions. Blaming her for what's happening. A stranger shows up and suddenly people start dying. His jaw had clenched when he heard it. When he saw the determined look in their eyes.

 

It's why he's not telling anyone that he's taking her away. Out of fear what they might do.

 

And he sure as hell isn't about to tell _her_. It would only make her doubt this place and scare her away and the thought of that- It hurts.

 

_Probably shouldn't visit ya,_ he says as he leads her through a heavy glass door. Her fingers curl a little tighter around his arm in response. _Not until it's over._

 

* * *

 

He wants to stay away. He really does. Doesn't want to increase the odds of her catching this thing - even though he still feels fine. Doesn't want to increase the odds of someone finding her. He left her with food and water, but he can't help worrying.

 

What if she needs help? What if she tried to get out of bed and fell? What if she's already infected?

 

He just needs to be sure.

 

His feet carry him to her before he can reason with himself. In the end, however, all worries were for nothing.

 

She's propped up against the wall, the small barred window in the concrete wall offering just enough light for her to read. When she sees him, she lowers the book - cracked spine and worn edges.

 

Her lips curl into a smirk. _I thought you wanted to stay away,_ she quips. She's teasing and he knows it. But the words grate on him sharply and he can't swallow his pride. Not this time.

 

He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't care as much as he does.

 

_Never said I wanted-,_ he starts, a weak attempt at explaining that he never _wanted_ to stay away from her at all. That it was for her own damn safety. Shit. Maybe he should have stayed away from her from the very start. _Forget it._

 

He turns around again, ready to get the hell out of here. She's fine, that much is clear. That's all he came here for, after all.

 

It's what he tells himself.

 

_Daryl!_ He stops in his tracks at the sound of her voice. Weak as shit, that's what Merle would think of him right now. Letting her order him around. He doesn't turn to look at her. _I'm sorry,_ she says, so softly that her voice trembles a little and the sound of that - so sincere - sends a shiver down his spine. _Don't go. Please._

 

He doesn't want to imagine her face. The shimmer in her eyes. The soft lines, the pale skin.

 

It's all he can ever think about, and he shouldn't.

 

_Shouldn't have come,_ he grunts, hands balled into fists before he heads down the hallway again with brisk,unforgiving steps. Not turning around even once.

 

 

 

The blistering heat in the courtyard is a mercy, driving even more blood into his cheeks and causing sweat to pearl on his skin. There are crescent shaped marks in his palms from his own fingernails, but he ignores the biting pain. Just keeps on walking with no direction.

 

_Daryl?_

 

He mutters a curse under his breath and stops, every muscle in his body protesting because he can't stand still right now. His blood boils in his veins, his skin is too tight.

 

Hershel is standing by the heavy metal door to one of the cell blocks, eyeing him with concern and taking a few cautious steps closer. _Are you all right, son?_

 

The old man is good. Kind. Has always treated Daryl with respect and he can appreciate that. Just not right now. Right now, he just needs to be left alone.

 

_'m fine,_ he mutters, wondering just how bad he looks. Ready to bolt, he turns, but Hershel's words freeze him in place.

 

_You went to see Carol._

 

It's not a question and it makes Daryl wonder if Hershel has already figured out that Carol is no longer in the infirmary and who they have to thank for that. Daryl doesn't worry about him in particular. The old man's smart enough to know that this damn plague isn't Carol's fault.

 

But trust isn't easily earned.

 

_Got a problem with that?_ Daryl asks, his voice harsh and low. He doesn't mean it like that. But he can't help it. The way his knuckles turn white and his jaw clenches.

 

_No,_ Hershel says calmly, shaking his head. _She's stable. I'm more worried about you._

 

Suddenly, it doesn't sound like they're talking about the disease anymore. There's something else in Hershel's stare. A concern that runs deeper and Daryl ducks his head, kicking a pebble away with the dusty tip of his boot.

 

_Well, y'ain't gotta be,_ he grunts. Hopefully, this is the last of it and the old man will let it go. But of course he has the shittiest luck.

 

_You care about her._

 

Daryl's heart skips a damn beat, and the words feel like a damn avalanche down his spine. Making him shiver despite the heat. He doesn't wanna hear anything about it. Hell, he doesn't _want_ to care. Never wanted to give a shit about anyone - especially not some random stranger. That's all she is.

 

But he can easily picture them all now. Gossiping. Wondering why he's with her all the time. Chuckling and making fun because they never really understood him or because they, more than him, understand what a fool he's really being.

 

She's nobody to him. And he ain't nothing to her. He knows that. She knows that. Hell, the whole world knows he ain't nothing to nobody and never will be.

 

Last thing he needs is for Hershel or anyone else to rub it in his face.

 

_What's it to you?_ he spits, throwing his hand in the air. _Ain't your business._

 

He doesn't wait for a damn reply, just marches off in the direction of the other cell block. Intent on finding something, anything, useful to do.

 

* * *

 

He almost doesn't go back. Feels too shit to show his face to her ever again.

 

He's an ass. Biggest one there is and he wishes he could take back everything he said. Everything he didn't say, too.

 

But if that last run taught him anything, it's just how fragile things really are. It feels wrong not to say goodbye. His heart thunders, though, as he walks back to her. Fingers twitching, his palms clammy.

 

What if she's mad at him? After all, she has every right to be.

 

She's reading that damn book again, thumbing the worn pages before looking up when she hears the thud of his boots and the echo of his steps among the concrete walls.

 

Her eyes light up a little. Full of surprise.

 

_I didn't think you'd come back._ There's no spite to her voice. It's gentle and cautious, her face soft. God, he doesn't deserve her forgiveness. Never has. But for some reason she grants it without a doubt.

 

His head tilts down towards his chest on pure instinct alone. It's conditioned behavior by now, hiding himself from others. _'m sorry,_ he mutters, one hand buried in the pocket of his jeans and the other clutching the strap of the crossbow. _'bout before. Can be an ass sometimes._

 

Carol sighs, putting the book down in her lap. Her legs are crossed, and she folds her hands against her thighs. Head resting against the cracked concrete wall.

 

_I wasn't trying to be mean,_ she says quietly, and it sounds more like an apology than his own had.

 

_I know._

 

He stares down at his boots for a moment before taking a few hesitant steps closer. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms, suddenly not sure what to say. He came here to apologize and he has. But he also came here to say goodbye and he doesn't know where to start.

 

Fortunately, Carol ends the heavy silence first.

 

_What's it like out there?_ she asks, a slight tremor to her fingers as she points at the hall.

 

Only now does Daryl realize just how terrified she must feel. Being in a strange place, having been isolated most of the time and now... Well, now she's truly alone. Anything could happen out there and she wouldn't know. She's defenseless, weak as she recovers and the best he can do to keep her safe is to hide her away.

 

He considers lying to her. Tell her everything is going to be just fine. Anything to wipe away the fear in her eyes.

 

But he can't.

 

He owes her the truth.

 

_It's bad,_ he mutters. For the first time since this started, he realizes just how scared he is. They don't have anything under control, they have no answers. It's burning them and everything they have built together. _A dozen people or so got it. Put 'em all in a cell block._

 

It feels like caging them up for slaughter, but he keeps that to himself. Most likely case: none of those they locked away will make it. And more will get sick, he's sure of it.

 

Carol presses her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with terror. _Oh God,_ she gasps, and he desperately wants to reassure her somehow that he'll fix this. That she'll be fine. Her next question, however, has nothing to do with her own safety at all. _How are you feeling?_

 

It's barely above a whisper, muffled by her fingers hovering over her lips.

 

_All right,_ he shrugs. It's as close to the truth as he can get. He's not feeling sick. Just like shit.

 

She looks so relieved.

 

_Gonna leave later,_ he continues. _Try an' find some meds._ It's a fickle plan and they're unprepared for a run of this magnitude. With no time to make a proper plan and with so much pressure on them for it to be a success. But they have to trust that Hershel is right, that they'll find the medication they need to help their people.

 

_Alone?_ Carol ask, and his eyes flicker down to the hand she has dropped, fingers clutching at the scratchy sheets.

 

_Bunch of us,_ he clarifies, but it doesn't have the effect he hoped for. She doesn't look any less worried.

 

How she can still care after what he did is beyond him.

 

_Do you have to go?_

 

Her question catches him off guard. It's genuine, breakable. Like she didn't even mean to say it. And the way she inhales sharply only proofs that. She looks almost shocked, like she allowed something to slip and for the first time he looks at her differently. Like something just chipped. Like maybe there's more to her than he thought. For a moment, she looks like she wants to take it all back.

 

But she doesn't.

 

Something shifts. What she said was genuine, but in a different way than before.

 

Clearing his throat, Daryl nods towards the floor. _Need those meds,_ he explains. He's half out in the hallway again before he stops. He doesn't turn around, too afraid of what he'll see. But he came here to say goodbye. _See ya,_ he mumbles, and then he's gone.

 

 

 

He can't shake it. The way her face shifted. The way she seemed to crack like a porcelain mask. A mask he didn't even notice before.

 

Hell, even as he fights his way through a herd of walkers, it's her face that's burned into his memory.

 

The sincerity, the shock, the confusion.

 

He doesn't know what it meant. What it _means_. But as they head back to the prison with bags full of medication, he feels a flicker of hope that he'll get the chance to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

She'd pace the small room if the stitches in her stomach didn't still hurt as much. They pull and ache with every movement that she makes, no matter how careful and measured.

 

The dull throb inside, where the bullet tore through her flesh, that's gone. A phantom ache by now, just echoes of it left.

 

Now, her chest feels tight, tight enough for every breath to be labored.

 

Daryl still isn't back. She hasn't found a moment of rest since he left, and it feels like a decade ago already.

 

The words she told him still taste bitter in her mouth. She meant them. But she never _intended_ to mean them.

 

It makes her wonder if she meant it all along. Everything she told him. Every smile she offered, every fleeting touch that he seemed to struggle to accept. The trust she worked so hard to built between them for nobody's sake but her own.

 

Maybe it hadn't all been a game. A means to an end to ensure her safety. An act.

 

With a sigh, she reaches for the book on the mattress. She knows these pages by heart, had read them to Sophia not too long ago. But they'd never made it to the end. And she always stops now a few pages before that. Can't bear to finish it when her little girl will never know how the story ends.

 

The book is heavy, worn, and she's just about to open it when-

 

The concrete walls surrounding her tremble as a loud noise ruptures though the quiet.

 

An explosion. Rattling the bars of the cell, dust and rust raining from the ceiling.

 

Her heart beats violently in her chest, panic flaring in her veins as she scrambles to her feet, waiting.

 

It's gun shots she hears next, the deafening noise of them making her dizzy. Everything turns blurry. Dark.

 

Only the sounds remain.

 


	5. five

She's dizzy. Her body shakes and trembles with every explosion that tears through the air, with every gunshot that pierces her eardrums.

 

Her knees can barely hold her up and so she sinks down onto the edge of the bed, hands unsteady as she tries to put on her boots.

 

_I have to get out of here._ That's the only thought she has, and it's playing on loop in her head. Still, the panic isn't enough to make the stars disappear that shimmer so distractingly in front of her eyes.

 

The knots she ties are messy and won't last but Carol forces herself back onto her feet all the same.

 

This place can't become her grave.

 

_Carol!_

 

The sound of her name echoes among the concrete walls, and for a moment she thinks it must be a trick of her mind. It's drowned out instantly by the roar of another explosion that shakes the very ground beneath her feet.

 

War. This feels like war.

 

But then, she hears it again. Familiar but panicked.

 

_Carol!_

 

Her numb legs carry her out into the hall, hands clutching the bars of the cell so hard that the white of her knuckles angrily pushes through.

 

_Daryl,_ she chokes, the sound of his voice sounding far, far away and yet she can hear the rapid thud of his boots coming closer and closer. Slowly, her vision clears. The fog that seemed to weigh her down lifts, but it makes room for the strain in her unused muscles and the sharp tug in her stomach.

 

_Carol!_

 

He's there. Rounding the corner and running towards her. Skin glistening with sweat, the crossbow aimed and ready - eyes full of terror as he rushes towards her.

 

_What-_ she starts, but her mouth feels dry, lips cracking as she takes a step towards him. She falls into him, their bodies colliding and she gasps but he gives her no time.

 

_We gotta leave,_ he says, breathless and harsh as strong hands clutch her upper arms in an almost bruising grip. _Gotta get outta here._

 

She wants to ask him why. Wants to know what is happening. But even if the words came out, she knows she wouldn't get an answer. Not now. Not when his body is rigid with tension and he's already dragging her down the hallway.

 

Every step hurts. It pulls at the rough stitches that have only just begun to heal and her legs are whining in protest. Too weak to carry her weight. Too weak to run, but that's what Daryl is doing.

 

He's running for his life down the concrete hall, past cells and stained doors. It feels like a tomb, like a never ending maze. She stumbles after him blindly and with no orientation, has to trust that the way he's leading them actually leads outside and not deeper and deeper into the abyss.

 

If it weren't for the rush of adrenaline that's pumping through her veins, she'd have collapsed already. She can feel herself right on the brink of it. It's too much for her body to take just yet but Daryl isn't letting go of her. He's not gentle either. He's dragging her along because he knows otherwise she'll fall and won't get up again. He knows and he fights for them both and that thought alone makes her vision blur.

 

He kicks open a heavy iron door, and for a second the sunlight that greets them all but blinds her. The relief of finally being outside, however, barely lasts long enough for her to really feel it.

 

Before, the noise had been dulled by the concrete walls of the prison. Now, the gunshots that are still being fired are painfully loud, making her want to cover her ears but she can't.

 

Daryl has a vice grip on her arm, pulling her along.

 

There are bodies strewn over the cracked concrete. Blood pouring from them and staining the ground red. It's slippery beneath her feet and the stench of it makes her nauseous. Walkers are piling up around them, the fences in the distance fallen. Their moans mingle with the echo of guns, and in the distance someone screams.

 

_Daryl-_ she gasps, curling her hand tighter around his arm, staggering. _We need to- What is happening?_

 

He shakes his head, hauls her up against him until he can wrap an arm around her side to hold her up. _We gotta leave._ He sounds cold. Defeated. _Ain't nothin' we can do._

 

She can only see his profile, but even from this angle she can see the emptiness in his eyes.

 

Another gunshot rings in her ears, followed by a deafening scream but Daryl doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down. Carol feels defenseless, clinging to him with no other option but to follow as he leads her further and further away.

 

Walkers fall as he buries his knife in their skulls, shielding her with his body but it's a blur to her. The pain from her stomach pulls through her entire body and she chokes back a cry with every step she forces herself to take.

 

It's a nightmare, she's sure of it. They plague her so often but most nights, it's Ed's face she sees. Grinning at her. Blood dripping from his lips. Eyes black and empty. His hands around Sophia's pale throat. Blood speckling her little girl's face.

 

It's never this. Never the horrors of this world. Now, though, she's faced with all of them, even as they put enough distance between themselves and the prison for silence to take over.

 

It's deafening as they reach the edge of the forest, quiet enough for her to think it never actually happened. But the smell of smoke is thick in the air, filling her lungs with every breath.

 

_I can't-_ she whispers, feeling as if she's being torn in two. But Daryl shows no mercy.

 

_Ya gotta,_ he grunts, exhaustion clear in his voice as he tightens his hold around her, offering more support. By now, he's all but carrying her, and she knows she won't make it much further. Can't go back.

 

She still wants to ask _why_ but the word won't form, and as Daryl marches forward between the trees, all she can do is let him pull her along.

 

* * *

 

Her stitches have torn. She can feel the raw skin parting, the warm blood soaking through the bandages and her shirt.

 

Still, Daryl doesn't slow down. His breaths are ragged pants, labored to the point of her worrying he'll collapse before she does. He's supporting all of her weight, dragging her over dry grass and through the maze of trees.

 

The pain she felt has long since grown numb. She can hardly feel anything anymore.

 

_Daryl,_ she whimpers, feeling herself fading. _Please._

 

He slows down then. Maybe they've run far enough. Maybe it's the way her voice breaks.

 

_Shit,_ he grunts when he takes a look at her, and suddenly both his arms are around her. She's too weak to fight it even though her instincts kick in. Memories of a different set of arms that never offered support or comfort. Just pain.

 

Slowly, carefully, Daryl walks them a few steps backwards. _Sit 'ere._ Her nails dig into his arms as he lowers her onto a fallen tree trunk, but he never even flinches as she leaves crescent shaped marks behind.

 

Sitting down offers very little comfort and the second he lets go of her she sways. Even as she presses her hands against the rough bark, she can't quite hold herself upright.

 

But she doesn't have to.

 

_Easy,_ he says, and then he's right there again, kneeling before her with his arm around her. _I got ya._

 

The clearing they're in spins around her and she shuts her eyes, nails biting into the bark beneath her palms.

 

_You're bleedin',_ Daryl mutters, his hand ghosting over the hem of her shirt, the blood there dark and unforgiving. _Fuck._ A second later there's pressure on the wound and more pain tears through her, making her moan softly.

 

_'m sorry._ He sounds softer than before, some of the stoic cold wiped from his voice. When she opens her eyes to look at him, there are tears shimmering in his eyes. _Gotta put pressure on it._

 

_What happened?_ she croaks, trying to breathe through the pain. But pain - she is used to that. She knows how to handle it, how to keep on going. It's the blood loss that is making her feel frail and lightheaded. Especially now that her body has not quite recovered from getting shot in the first place.

 

Daryl is staring down at the blood stain beneath his hand, his own knuckles scraped raw - avoiding her gaze.

 

_Were attacked,_ he explains vaguely. Instead of offering more, he sighs. _Gonna tell ya later._

 

It's a weak promise because with every breath, she begins to fade away, can feel herself losing this battle. She's not sure there will _be_ a later. Not anymore.

 

_Gotta find a place to stay,_ Daryl continues, offering more support when she sinks further down, too dizzy to hold herself upright.

 

_The others,_ she whispers, eyes closed again. She only saw glimpses of the carnage that had taken place outside the prison, but the piercing scream, that's burned into her memory.

 

_They all ran,_ he explains, moving up to sit next to her. His arms come around her, holding her against his side. _Ain't no way of tracking them now._ There's a sadness to his words that she registers even as the sound of it grows distant and hollow. A grief that remains largely unspoken but is undeniably there.

 

Admitting defeat, she rests her head on his shoulder. It's an intimate touch, something she would shy away from usually, something she's not familiar with anymore.

 

It's oddly comforting, knowing that she's not alone. Knowing that he's here with her. For all the harsh edges he likes to wear like armor, he's soft underneath. It didn't take her long to figure that out.

 

_You came back for me,_ she breathes, her exhale shuddering and her eyes fluttering open and shut before she can no longer see anything but blurred colors.

 

A warm hand smooths up and down her back over the ridges of her spine, soothing and slow.

 

_Course I did._

 

* * *

 

It's warm. That's the first thing she notices when she wakes up. She's too exhausted to open her eyes just yet but her other senses are more than eager to make up for it.

 

The smell of wood and smoke fills her nose. Clean and yet musky and rich. There's a slight breeze tickling her skin, cooling it in a gentle caress. She's laying on something soft. A mattress. A bed. There's something covering her legs, light and thin, and a pillow beneath her head.

 

Taking deep breaths, she drifts in and out of consciousness for a while, feeling the sharp tug of her wound but ignoring the pain. She's still alive. That's all the pain tells her. If she was dead, surely there wouldn't be any more suffering.

 

Eventually, her body stops dragging her back into a deep sleep and she dares to open her eyes. There's no blinding brightness. The room she's in is illuminated only barely, by a candle, she thinks, as she notices orange shadows dancing on the wooden ceiling above her.

 

_Hey._ Daryl's voice is hoarse but soft and there's movement next to her that tells her he's right there. One slight tilt of her head confirms it.

 

He's sitting on a worn, wooden chair - the green paint slowly chipping away. His eyes are mostly covered by his hair, but he's alert and awake despite the fatigue that even the dim light can not quite hide. Dark shadows under his eyes and a pale complexion that makes him look sick.

 

His hands are folded on the bed right next to one of her own. Just a few inches apart.

 

_Where are we?_ she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. There's a window above the bed she's in, but the heavy green curtains are drawn, revealing just a sliver of the midnight blue sky.

 

_Found this place,_ Daryl explains. _Was just one walker in here. Better than bein' out there._

 

She nods even though she can't make out much more of the place he's talking about. The bed seems to be tucked away in the back of what she assumes is a small cabin.

 

_Ya feelin' all right?_

 

He sounds so concerned, so genuinely worried that it curls like a cold fist around her heart. Not just because she's no longer used to being treated this way - soft and caring. But also because she used it to her advantage all this time.

 

She doesn't think he knows. And she'll make sure he never finds out. It would break whatever trust they managed to build, and she's not about to let that happen.

 

By now, it's clear that she has nothing to fear from him. If he wanted to do her any harm, he has had countless chances by now - all of which he has allowed to go to waste. He had no reason to come back for her. To save her. And yet he had done just that.

 

_I'm fine,_ she breathes in response, her lips curling into a weak smile.

 

She almost feels guilty. All this time, she showed him kindness, made an effort to make him care about her, all to ensure she had someone at the prison on her side. Someone she could trust in a place full of strangers.

 

Maybe she led him on, and he does not deserve that.

 

What she feels now, though, the warmth and trust that settles deep in her chest - that's as real as she's able to give.

 

But even now, she can't explain to herself why she saved his life that day. Why she threw herself in front of him to shield him. It's a riddle, even to her.

 

_Patched you up,_ Daryl explains, nodding down towards her stomach. One glance down doesn't give anything away, though There's a blanket covering her, neatly tucked in. But she can feel that the wound is covered in fresh bandages and that the bleeding has stopped. She's too exhausted to ask about details. About how they got here, about what happened at the prison and what will happen now.

 

_Are_ you _okay?_ The question spills from her lips without second thought. He looks unharmed, but the strain of the last few days has left its mark on him and there's no telling what he might be hiding from her.

 

Much like herself, he seems all too skilled at hiding when he's suffering.

 

_'m fine,_ he assures her, repeating her earlier words. All she can do is believe him. Still, her hand lifts off the bed on its own accord, and she watches like a stranger as her fingers feather over the back of Daryl's hand.

 

_Thank you,_ she whispers, and this time she truly means it.

 

He doesn't pull away but his face turns to stone the moment she touches him. He never seems very comfortable, always edging away like a stray animal that's been beaten into a corner.

 

The thought almost makes her laugh, morbidly similar to how she feels. At the same time, it makes her chest ache with sorrow at what it might mean. All the potential reasons why he is this way bringing tears to her eyes.

 

Slowly, she pulls her hand away again. The last thing she wants is to torment him and take his composure and compassion for granted.

 

_Here, gotta drink somethin'._ He grabs a chipped cup from a small table next to the bed, holding it out for her. The moment she lifts her head to sit up, she's reminded of the freshly torn wound, hissing as pain ripples through her.

 

But Daryl is quick to react, one large hand gently cradling the back of her head and holding it up. _Here,_ he murmurs, holding the cup to her lips. The water is a mercy, flowing over her dry tongue and down her throat. She's hungry too but has little hope that he'll manage to conjure up food. He's patient, allowing her to empty the whole cup before slowly lowering her head back onto the pillow.

 

It smells like lavender, she notices now, the scent lulling her to sleep quickly.

 

_Get some rest,_ Daryl murmurs. He hasn't moved his hand away yet, and it hovers lightly over the side of her head. Warm and almost inviting. There's a part of her, brave and maybe a little dazed from the blood loss, that yearns to lean into his touch.

 

The rest of her fights it. Fights all touch, all attachment.

 

But in the end, that small flicker of bravery wins. It just takes a slight shift of her head for her cheek to rest in the cradle of his palm. His skin is warm and calloused, and she's pretty sure she can hear him sucking in a surprised gasp.

 

Her lips twitch with a smile as he soothes his thumb over her cheekbone after a second of stunned stillness. Looking at him, you wouldn't expect him to be capable of such a tender touch and Carol is genuinely surprised that he seems to indulge in this moment as much as she is.

 

He doesn't pull his hand away. Doesn't cease the soothing back and forth of his thumb. His other fingers sift ever so slightly through the curls of her hair just around her ear. The fleeting touch sends a shiver down her spine and draws a sigh from her parted lips.

 

She had forgotten what this feels like. To long for someone's touch rather than recoil from it and her body comes alive with the ache for _more_.

 

It's not enough to beat the exhaustion and her desperate need for recovery, though and before she can truly relish in the moment, her eyes are already fluttering shut.

 

Daryl murmurs something she can't understand, but just the timbre of his voice alone is enough to make her feel safe.

 

To allow her to surrender to sleep with his touch still tingling on her skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter for this year. I hope you enjoyed it - I'm definitely looking forward to exploring things from Carol's POV for a while.
> 
> I wish you all a wonderful, happy and healthy 2018 and I want to thank you all for being so awesome and supportive this year :)


	6. six

When she wakes, it's long past dawn. Sunlight fills the cabin, illuminating everything in a warm, comfortable glow. It's almost tempting to curl up in the soft bed and let the warm rays tickle her skin. Pretend it's a Sunday morning, lazy and cozy.

 

But she hasn't had Sunday mornings like that in a very, very long time and the time for them has passed now.

 

She finds Daryl sitting at a small table sharpening his bolts. Her steps are slow, face twitching with the pain of moving as she slides down into a chair next to him.

 

Before she knows it, he has a bowl of oatmeal placed in front of her. It's plain and tasteless but it fills her belly and silences the rumbling of it.

 

He tells her then. Everything. About the man called the Governor, about the town he ruled, about the walkers and guns, about it all.

 

About the tank. About what happened out there. About Hershel. His words turn sour at the mention of the old man whom she met a few times when he tended to her wounds. Kind, generous, warm.

 

He's gone now, and most likely many of the others, too.

 

When Daryl finishes, a heavy silence engulfs them. He has set down the bolts, his hands curled into tight fists on the worn table top. Eyes cast downwards, almost in shame.

 

He tends to carry the guilt for a great deal of things, Carol has learned that already. And while she was not there to witness any of what he has told her, she is certain that he had no part to play in what went wrong. Telling him that, however, will only make him defensive. She knows that, too.

 

Instead, she pushes her empty bowl away, sighing as she tries to find a more comfortable position to sit - but it's in vain. Pain still ripples through her and it's frustrating - knowing that she'd be better off in bed. Useless. Nothing but a burden to Daryl who never asked for any of this.

 

It makes her remember what she already asked him last night, but she wonders if maybe he brushed it off then in favor of letting her rest.

 

_Daryl?_ she asks softly, watching the way he's still avoiding her gaze.

 

_Hmm?_

 

_Are you sure you don't want to look for the others?_ It's a reasonable enough question given that he spent so much time with that group of people, now scattered in the wind. But her heart still aches as she words the question because she knows why she's asking it. I'm sure some of them made it out.

 

If they have, then there's a chance for him to reunite with them. To pick up where he left off. To leave her behind.

 

_Told ya,_ he grunts, reaching for the bolts and grabbing them roughly. _Ain't no way to track 'em. Could be anywhere by now. Ran in every direction._

 

She watches cautiously as he places the bolts back where they belong, setting the crossbow down against the table's leg.

 

He sounds defensive, his words muttered through his teeth and his eyes still not meeting hers.

 

_We could try,_ she says softly, and some of his tension seems to ease. He sinks back into the chair, hands flat on the table.

 

_'s too dangerous goin' back,_ he sighs, and her chest tightens at the sound of his voice. _Should've..._ His fingers start drumming nervously against the table and it only takes a few second before he lifts one hand, worrying the skin around his thumbnail between his teeth. _Should've prepared for something like this. Ain't no point now._

 

He's quiet then, finally looking at her. There's a hint of grief in his expression but mostly it's insecurity staring back at her. It makes her wonder how much it truly hurts him to have lost everybody like this. How much it meant to him to be part of that group. How he fit in. He never spoke much of the others, and she wonders now if any of them are considering finding him right now.

 

The thought fills her with anger and dread alike.

 

_Unless ya wanna go back?_ Daryl asks then, the question unexpected but it makes so much sense that he would assume she wouldn't want to be here. She wants to reach out and take his hand, reassure him that she _does_ want to be here - that realization startles even her, though and so she doesn't move except for the gentle shake of her head.

 

_No,_ she murmurs. _I don't think I do._

 

* * *

 

_'s lookin' better,_ Daryl murmurs, fingers ghosting carefully and tenderly around the rough stitches on her stomach. Carol feels herself shivering in response to his light touch but if he notices he doesn't let it show.

 

It's been healing well the last few days, the skin not as red and raw anymore.

 

_Doesn't really hurt anymore, either,_ Carol reassures him, watching as he carefully puts a new bandage in place. It's one of the last bits they have - they got lucky this place was so well stocked when Daryl found it.

 

He nods, giving her a quick smile before his face turns somber again. _Should still take it easy for a while,_ he reminds her, gently tucking her shirt back into place. _Can't tear them stitches again. Got lucky we found this place or-_ He grows silent, sitting back on the edge of the bed with a distant look in his eyes. She knows what would have happened if he had not carried her here that day. And so does he.

 

Shaking his head, he stirs himself out of his dark thoughts. _Just got lucky._

 

Carol nods, smiling at him and earning herself a faint blush high on his cheeks.

 

_I think I'll be fine in a few days,_ she muses, rotating her torso a little to feel the tightness of the stitches. There's barely any pain.

 

There's not much food left and while the cabin is tucked away from main roads, they have little protection. So far, they've been lucky not to encounter any trouble.

 

They haven't talked about where to go from here. What to do. Haven't settled on anything other than the fact that going after the others would be a fruitless mission. Something tells her, though, that Daryl wouldn't be so quick to surrender if he truly wanted to find them.

 

Sitting back against the wall, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight, Carol sighs. _What then, Daryl?_ she asks carefully, hands folded in her lap. Almost by instinct her fingers go to where her wedding ring once was, ready to spin it in restless circles but it's not there anymore. _What do we do then?_

 

Daryl looks at her wearily. He looks tired, dark circles under his hooded eyes - he must be getting such little sleep. Restless and worried, keeping watch more than he needs to while she finds rest.

 

_I don't know,_ he shrugs, fingers toying with a loose seam on his jeans. She needs to fix that, Carol thinks to herself, remembering a sewing set she found in one of the drawers.

 

_Gotta move forward,_ Daryl continues, turning his head to look out of the window. The sky is a perfect shade of powder blue, the trees behind the cabin swaying in the soft breeze. It's peaceful here. Beautiful. But they can't stay. They both know it and she wonders if he feels the same sense of sadness overwhelming him at the thought of leaving this behind. _There's gotta be other places out there,_ he wonders out loud, fingers tracing the chipping paint of the windowsill, a few vases and knick knacks gathering dust there. _More people. 's safer in a group. Unless ya don't wanna-_

 

He stops mid sentence, his voice growing quiet towards the end and she can see his throat bopping as he swallows deftly.

 

_Unless I don't want what?_ she asks, shifting her weight a little and the small movement is enough for her knee to press into his thigh. Warm. Solid. A connection that she finds herself craving rather than rejecting.

 

_Stick together,_ he answers, eyes flickering between her face and the point where they legs touch. _Y'ain't gotta stick around if ya don't wanna._

 

She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous they both are - after all, she had the same thought just a few days ago, the terrifying idea that he might not want to be here with her. And she had already assured him that she had no plans of leaving then. Still, he doubts her. _Daryl-_ she starts, but he interrupts her before she can say anything else.

 

_Been alone a while, right? If that's what ya-_

 

_I don't want to be alone,_ she says determinedly, leaning forward enough to get his attention. He looks her her with his blue eyes slightly widened in surprise. _I- I never wanted to be alone,_ she continues more quietly, feeling vulnerable admitting this to him.

 

Spending all those months on her own had hardly been her plan. But once she was - once Ed and Sophia were gone - there had been almost a comfort in the silence. And after a while, she grew too afraid, too cautious, to approach anyone.

 

_It just happened,_ she admits quietly. Carefully, she weighs her next words, wondering if they are too much, if she's crossing a line. But if this world - and the last few days - have taught her anything, it's that she does not have limitless chances to say what needs to be said. _I want to stay with you,_ she whispers with a smile, not surprised when Daryl ducks his head in response.

 

_Ya do?_ he asks, sounding almost afraid of her answer.

 

_Yes._

 

He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting before he looks up. There's a smile waiting to break through but it doesn't, not quite. _Okay,_ he says instead, almost matter-of-factly. _Guess we... Guess we stick together then._

 

Just barely, the corner of his lips curl into a quick smile.

 

_I guess we will,_ Carol confirms, her heart beating just a little faster.

 

 

 

That night, she barely finds rest, no matter how comfortable the bed is and how little pain she feels.

 

Daryl is breathing evenly, just the lightest snore every now and then, and she turns carefully onto her side to look down at him. Sleeping on a few blankets and a floral embroidered throw pillow in front of the bed, the crossbow and a gun nearby.

 

He looks peaceful like this. Younger. The lines of his face smoothed away.

 

For a moment, Carol indulges herself and watches him. Marveling at the softness that he keeps locked away so deeply.

 

She doesn't believe in fate. Maybe she did once, but those days have come and gone. Looking at Daryl now, stirring lightly in his sleep, makes her reconsider that. Maybe there was a reason she went into that store that very day. Why she saved his life.

 

Being with him now... She finally, and for the first time since the day the world went to hell, feels like there's more to this. More to the endless pain and suffering.

 

Maybe, just maybe, it's worth it all. Just a month ago she never would have felt like this. Roaming the streets alone, always hungry, always afraid with nothing to hope for except a painless death.

 

It's different now. That feeling is a fickle, delicate one, though, and she treads carefully.

 

Eventually, she turns away, listening to the even hum of Daryl's breathing and the wind rustling the leafs outside until her eyes become too heavy.

 

* * *

 

The days pass slowly and in an almost lazy kind of blur.

 

Late mornings when she wakes up to Daryl pattering around the cabin. Securing the door, the windows, cleaning the old oven.

 

Meager lunches she improvises from the cans and boxes in the cabinets. Well-stocked but still difficult to turn into something mouth-watering. But Daryl never complains, tells her how good she makes it taste, that she's got a talent for it.

 

It's not the kind of talent she thinks is very useful these days but she takes his compliment with a smile anyway.

 

The afternoons are long and drawn-out as she waits for Daryl to return. He's out hunting, scavenging. Sometimes bringing back a rabbit or a squirrel to cook for dinner, some fresh fruit on occasion. While he's gone, there's so little for her to do. She still has to take things slow, allow herself to heal.

 

And so she mends their clothes and keeps the place clean. Washes and dusts and feels like she's falling back into who she used to be. Except when Daryl comes home, it's so different. He's always smiling at her. Happy to see her. Appreciates what she's doing. Asks her how she's feeling.

 

The evenings, they spend together. Reading books or playing a game of cards. They never talk much, and she can't imagine Daryl would ever warm up to long conversations by the fire. But what they do have, what he's willing to give – she cherishes that.

 

Still, she wishes there was more she could do. No matter how appreciative and kind Daryl is, she can't take the feeling that she's using him, that she's being a burden.

 

_Useless. A waste of time. Weak._

 

Everything Ed used to tell her, she feels now more than ever like maybe there was a flicker of truth to it after all.

 

But then Daryl smiles at her or looks at her in wonder when she laughs at one of his jokes and all those doubts fade into the back of her mind.

 

 

 

The candles flicker between them, the warmth of the flames comforting as they eat. The canned mushroom soup tastes surprisingly good, rich and creamy and Carol savors every spoonful of it.

 

_I thought the coast might be a good idea but I guess a lot of people must have thought that,_ she wonders, watching with an amused smile as Daryl wipes a few drops of soup from his chin.

 

_Yeah,_ he nods, taking a sip of water. _Any boats there were are probably gone by now._ It's a miserable thought but he's probably right. _Should stay clear of the big cities. Won't be much there, not anymore,_ he continues.

 

Carol sighs, the conversation slowly killing her appetite. There's only enough food left for a few days at best, and even though Daryl has been out hunting, that alone won't be enough. They need to leave sooner rather than later. _So where can we go?_

 

Daryl looks at her over the flame of the candle, his skin looking waxen in the orange light.

 

_Could head North,_ he suggests with a shrug. _Just see what we find. Go somewhere where it ain't as hot._ Carol laughs softly at that and he grins. _Walkers seemed to slow down during the winter,_ he says then, serious again.

 

She remembers the winter. How bitterly cold it had been. The snow, the ice, their breaths turning to mist in the air.

 

_They did,_ she murmurs, remembering how few walkers they encountered back then. But she doesn't allow herself to dwell too much on memories of that time. When she wasn't alone. _So, are we hiking all the way to Canada?_ she mockingly asks instead, forcing herself to smirk at Daryl who snorts in response. _We have all the time in the world, after all._

 

He looks up at her, his expression too soft for the joke she just made. _Guess we do,_ he agrees, holding her gaze for a moment before digging back into what little remains of his soup.

 

_Maybe we'll find a place,_ Carol wonders out loud, tracing her finger along the silver spoon in her hand. _Somewhere between here and there._

 

There has to be something out there, after all.

 

Daryl nods, leaning back in his chair. _Maybe._

 

* * *

 

_Daddy!_

 

_Shut your mouth. They're gonna hear us._

 

_I'm scared._

 

_Be quiet._

 

_Daddy!_

 

_Sophia!_

 

_Mommy, I'm scared! Help! Daddy!_

 

_SOPHIA!_

 

Blood. There's blood on her hands, warm and thick. Droplets of it on her cheeks, lips, neck. It's everywhere.

 

A scream.

 

Her little girl's scream. Tearing through the night.

 

_Mommy!_

 

_Carol!_

 

The voice is different. Familiar but it doesn't belong. Not here. Not-

 

More blood. Running in rivers.

 

_Carol!_

 

Her little girl's eyes. Clouded. Dead.

 

_Hey!_

 

Carol wakes with a gasp, sitting up straight as her heart pounds relentlessly against her ribs. The wound in her stomach throbs at the harsh movement but the pain is dulled as her pulse rushes in her ears.

 

_'s all right, hey!_ Slowly, she realizes there are hands curled around her arms, light, her brain faintly registers but it feels bruising, suffocating and she jolts, shakes until they fall away. _Was just a dream,_ the voice says but all she can see is the dark room. She gulps down air, again and again but her lungs burn. _Just a dream._

 

The voice is softer now and she recognizes it. Turning her head, he's right there. Hair tangled, eyes sleepy but full of concern as he hovers by the side of the bed. Hands held up.

 

_Daryl?_ she croaks, feeling the wetness of her own tears on her cheeks.

 

He nods, seemingly relieved that she recognized him at all. _'m here,_ he reassures her, slowly, cautiously, reaching out until his hand finds hers. _Just had a bad dream. Breathe, all right?_

 

She nods but as much as she tries she can't calm the sharp breaths that barely do any good.

 

_He's not- she's...,_ she gasps, the images still burned into her mind. The blood. It still feels so real.

 

She hardly notices the tender brush of Daryl's fingers across her knuckles until she does. Until she decides to focus just on _that_ , on the warmth of his calloused skin and the steady movements as she breathes in and out, in and out.

 

_Wanna... Wanna talk about it?_ Daryl asks softly after a minute, keeping his voice low.

 

Carol's first instinct is to shake her head no and she does. He doesn't push, just keeps brushing her skin, keeps her grounded.

 

_Sophia._ The word escapes her lips against her better judgment, a shuddering exhale more than anything else. More than a word or a name, more than anything that ever meant something. _I keep seeing her._

 

_Ya little girl?_

 

All she can do is nod. There's nothing more she can say. She can't tell him what happened that day. What she did _after_. Even if she wanted to, she doubts the words would come out right now.

 

Exhaling slowly, she turns her hand a little. Daryl is quick to move his own away, probably thinking she doesn't want his touch anymore but she does. Before he can pull away entirely, she curls her fingers around his, squeezing his hand.

 

He feels so warm.

 

When he sits down on the edge of the bed, she doesn't shy away, she doesn't feel caged. Their hands remain locked against the sheets, fingers occasionally brushing over calloused or pale skin.

 

_I get 'em too,_ Daryl murmurs after a while. He's looking past her at the window, the moonlight making his skin glow and his eyes shimmer like stars. _Nightmares._

 

In this moment, despite his broad shoulders and the ruggedness of his appearance, despite the crossbow and the gun and the blood that never quite washes off his hands - despite all that he looks breakable. Something falls away in the darkness, like a veil lifting and Carol gently presses her thumb against the pulse point in his wrist.

 

_What do you see?_ she asks, a frightful, compassionate whisper. It's almost certain that he won't answer, especially when his eyes stray even further from her, dropping down to their joined hands.

 

So, when he does speak, she almost startles at the sound of his voice.

 

_My old man._

 

It makes sense, fits like a puzzle piece into the riddle that he is. She's not surprised but still it hurts. Imagining him, young and defenseless. Innocent. Suffering what she can not allow herself to imagine right now.

 

Neither of them says a word after that. There's no need for explanations, not when everything is being said in silence, in the gentle brush of their fingers, in the warmth gathering between their skin.

 

 

 

When she wakes up again, her cheek rests against Daryl's shoulder. There's warmth where she's curled into his side and where his arm is wrapped securely around her. Where their fingers are still entwined against his thigh.

 

He's sitting up against the wall, still half asleep when she stirs in his arms. When he does wake up eventually, he looks down at her with wonder in his eyes, running his finger up and down her arm for a brief moment before pulling away with a muttered apology she did not need.

 

Neither of them says a word about it after. About the comfort they found in each other.

 

 

 

Two hours later, they have packed up what little remains and are heading out into the Georgia sun. Into the unknown.

 

 


	7. seven

one month later:

 

It's dark outside. So much darker than it ever used to be before. There are no more city lights illuminating the night sky, no planes flying overhead, leaving their marks. It's pitch black except for the stars that shimmer brighter than ever before.

 

Carol can see them through the large windows of the apartment, the curtains open just a sliver. With only two candles between them and the apartment being three stories up, there's little her and Daryl have to hide from the outside world.

 

Not to mention they haven't run into another person for two weeks. Not since they came across a panicked man in an abandoned warehouse just around the time they made it to Tennessee.

 

She can still hear him scream as the walkers got to him before they could. Tearing him apart until nothing but bones remained.

 

Especially in the silence, he haunts her. And there is plenty of that these days.

 

Right now, it's a comfortable silence, and she's used to those too by now. There's reassurance in them. Warmth. Daryl has no need to fill it with unnecessary words, is content to just be. The thought makes her lips curl into a gentle smile as she stirs the been stew in its can.

 

_Tastes like ass,_ Daryl grumbles through a mouthful of food, eyeing his own can with furrowed brows.

 

Carol smirks, watching him devour his dinner nonetheless. _Speaking from experience there?_ she asks, knowing fully well what she's implying.

 

The effect is instant and gratifying when he ducks his head and rolls his eyes - shy and irritated yet humored all at once. _Stop._

 

It's his usual response that has become familiar by now. Something reliable, something to hold on to.

 

_I don't think it tastes all that bad,_ she quips, eating another spoonful of the stew but raising her brows at Daryl.

 

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. _Stop,_ he mutters again, but she can see the hint of a smile on his lips. _Jesus, woman. What's gotten into you?_

 

_Nothing,_ she shrugs, running her finger along the ridges of the can. _Not for a long time._ The words are barely out of her mouth before she's laughing at Daryl's dumbfounded expression. He nearly chokes on his food, spluttering something unintelligible. _Sorry, I'm sorry,_ she laughs, pressing her fingers to her lips.

 

She almost can't believe she said that. Being this bold, it's not who she is. Not anymore. But she used to be. A long time ago before Ed beat it all out of her like it was a sport.

 

Daryl raises his brows. _Yeah, y'ain't,_ he snorts. _Not even a little bit._

 

A mocking gasp leaves her lips, her hand pressed to her chest. _How would you know that?_

 

_I know ya,_ he replies almost instantly. Too quickly. It was meant to be humorous, she can tell. But the way it comes out is different. More serious. There's more truth to it than either of them wants to admit.

 

The comfortable silence turns charged for a few seconds before Daryl looks away. Eating another spoonful of bland bean stew, he is quick to change the subject. _Was thinkin'...,_ he starts, chewing for a good long while. _Been here long enough. Gotta get movin' soon._

 

Carol sighs deeply. _I guess,_ she murmurs, already feeling a familiar dread swelling inside of her. It's always like this. They find a place that's decent enough to offer shelter for a few days and then they are back out on the road. There's no place to settle, no place for roots and slowly, she's growing tired of never finding anything. _Where to?_

 

This place is the most comfortable they have found in weeks. A small apartment over a corner convenience store. That had been wiped clean, but the apartment was exactly what they needed to find three days ago.

 

They'd been tired, aching to the bones, exhausted and weary. Usually, they tend to stay clear of towns and cities, but a shortage of food and gas forced them into the small town they passed on their way north. Brick buildings and fading signs. A ghost town with the exception of a few walkers here and there.

 

The apartment has windows out to a courtyard, shielding them from curious eyes on the streets. A few cans of food in the cabinets, beds to sleep in, clothes to replace worn and torn ones.

 

But once again, this place has given them all it had to offer.

 

Daryl shrugs in response to her question, setting down his can. He rummages through one of their bags for a moment, tossed to the side earlier, until he pulls out their well worn and wrinkled map. _Wanna use it as a dart board?_ he says with a grin, spreading it out between them.

 

Carol can't help but laugh again, the rush of it spreading through her body in a way she had almost forgotten until she met Daryl.

 

_You're such an-_ she starts, but before she can finish, a clattering noise silences her. Sounding far enough away to come from downstairs. _What was that?_

 

Daryl is on his feet in a second, his smile faded and replaced by a concerned frown.

 

_I'll go,_ he says quietly, already grabbing the crossbow off the floor. Carol shakes her head, standing up quickly and crossing the small space between them.

 

_Daryl, I can-_

 

He holds up his hand and she grows quiet, but the pleading expression is still on her face. The thought of him going down there alone makes her heart pound with fear.

 

_Please?_ he asks softly, a plead that's almost impossible to deny him. She knows he still carries so much unnecessary and unfounded guilt, knows it guides him. But she wishes he would let her help. _Let me._

 

She sighs, knowing that she has a choice here. He wouldn't stop her from coming with him, would never assume that right. But he wants her to stay behind and it leaves a sour taste on her tongue.

 

Still, she reaches out, curls her hand softly around his arm.

 

_Be careful._

 

 

 

He's been teaching her. All these months on her own, she had to rely on luck, on being smart enough to avoid danger. When it came to physically defending herself, Carol had few skills to show for herself.

 

Over time, she grew more comfortable with the knife she carried. With the gun she found.

 

But there was little confidence to how she felt and Daryl made sure to change that as soon as she was strong enough again.

 

He taught her how to aim, how to hold herself, everything. All of it with much more patience than she expected - and she was even more surprised that she wasn't even all that slow to learn and adapt.

 

It made her feel stronger. More independent. Less of a burden.

 

And while she knows now that Daryl is happy - maybe even proud - with the progress that she made, it hurts that he still chooses to always take the first step. To put himself in front of her like a shield.

 

He's gone for a few minutes that stretch unbearably before he returns, barricading the door behind himself as usual.

 

_Ain't nothin' there,_ he explains, setting the crossbow down against the wall. _Must've been the wind._

 

_I could have gone with you,_ Carol points out calmly, but with a strong gaze that he makes an effort to avoid.

 

For a moment he shuffles around, nervous. Fidgeting with this and that, worrying the deadbolt on the door one time too many.

 

_I know,_ he eventually admits, quiet and almost like it's not meant for her to hear at all.

 

_Then why-_

 

_Could have been something,_ he interrupts her, taking a hurried step forward before stopping and ducking his head. _I can't- Forget it._

 

He walks away then, head pointed down at his dusty boots, marching off towards the bedroom.

 

When the door closes behind him, Carol feels her heart twinge and the echo of his unspoken words fills the dimly lit room.

 

* * *

 

The world passes in a blur as they drive down the deserted road. Fields and trees. Car wrecks and a few lonely walkers. Flowers and rivers and an occasional house that's abandoned and falling apart.

 

There's something strangely peaceful about it. Being able to lean her head against the glass and watch the world pass by. Even the horrors that they see along the way seem to melt away in the blur of colors.

 

_Can ya turn that off?_ Daryl grumbles, nodding at the radio. She found a stack of CDs in the glove compartment, and is now tapping her foot to the beat of some 80s song she remembers dancing to at prom. It's a faint memory, so far away that is seems like it belongs to someone else.

 

_Why? It's good,_ she says with a smile, humming along to the cheerful melody.

 

Daryl looks at her like she just grew a second head. _Ya can't seriously like that shit._

 

His blatant dislike prompts a laugh from her and she turns up the volume just a slight bit. _It's not shit, it's classic,_ she explains, offering him her biggest smile.

 

He's not easily convinced. _Classic shit then,_ he corrects himself, eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel. The other arm is propped against the window, his thumb pressing into his chin. _Don't make it good._

 

Knowing she won't be able to convince him, Carol pops open the glove compartment, looking through the other CDs.

 

_There's also a Celine Dion Greatest Hits,_ she chuckles, pulling out the cracked case. _Do you want to listen to that instead?_ she teases, holding it up in front of him and hoping that this threat will make him warm up to the upbeat tune she's still tapping her foot to.

 

_The hell is that?_ he asks instead, throwing a sideway glance at the cover.

 

Carol's eyes widen when she realizes he has no idea who she is talking about, and her body lights up with excitement.

 

_Oh God, you're in for a treat,_ she promises, ejecting the current disk and pulling the new one from the case.

 

_What'ya grinnin' at?_ Daryl asks, eyeing her curiously.

 

_You just wait,_ Carol mutters, smirking to herself as she presses play.

 

 

 

They barely make it through the first song before Daryl throws the CD out of the rolled down window.

 

 

 

Her back aches on the hard, narrow back seat. No matter how much she tries to adjust her position, some part of her body is always in pain. There's barely any circulation left in her legs by now, not enough room in the car to stretch them out.

 

It doesn't matter how tired she is. She won't find any sleep right here, right now.

 

Yet, even when they are lucky enough to find a comfortable place to rest, sleep never comes easily. The nightmares waiting just around the corner.

 

With a frustrated sigh, she sits up, stretching out her arms and listening to the crack of her bones. Through the windshield, she can see Daryl's silhouette leaning against the hood of the car.

 

Readjusting the knife strapped to her belt, she opens the door, feeling a gust of cool air hit her. Not cold enough to make her shiver. It's pleasant, soothing almost.

 

_Can't sleep?_ Daryl asks quietly when she walks up beside him, leaning her tailbone against the hood of the car. She's close enough for her arm to press into Daryl's from shoulder to wrist.

 

Briefly, he tenses. Just the way he always does. For a tiny, flickering moment she's always afraid he'll pull away.

 

But he never does.

 

_No,_ she confirms, keeping her voice down too. It's dead quiet out here and they can see far enough into all directions to spot any threat in time, but still. They have learned to be cautious. _I'm tired but..._

 

She doesn't know how to explain the strangled mess that's keeping her awake.

 

Daryl understands even her silence, though. _Yeah, I know,_ he mutters, nodding just barely.

 

_I can take over if you want to,_ she suggest although she already knows he'll decline. He struggles to sleep just as much as she does if not more, and it's rare that he finds a moment to allow himself to rest.

 

_'s fine,_ he murmurs, and she doesn't expect him to say more than that. Instead, she looks away into the distance where the outline of trees melt into the pitch black night sky. _Ain't gonna sleep either,_ Daryl continues then, so quiet she almost misses it.

 

She exhales softly, leaning a little more of her weight into him. Feeling the warmth of his skin even through the layer of her thin shirt.

 

_It's nice here,_ she whispers after a while, breathing in the crisp night air and the smell of grass. Their journey has taken them to many places but they rarely get a moment like this to really drink in the beauty that's still left in the world.

 

Daryl hums in agreement, and from her peripheral vision she watches the way his chest rises and falls, the way the moonlight makes his skin glow. _Have you ever been around here before?_

 

_Nah,_ he says with a shake of his head. His eyes grow a little distant, his expression sour. _Never even been outta Georgia,_ he confesses, sounding bitter about it in a way he rarely shows.

 

They don't often talk about _before_. She doesn't often dare to bring it up out of fear of forcing herself into a situation where she'll have to talk about Ed, about Sophia, about everything. And Daryl seems just as ready to leave the past behind - but when it does come up, he always wears the same bitterness. The same resentment.

 

_Never?_ she asks, feeling sadness overcoming her at the idea that he never got a chance to see all the beautiful places the world has to offer back when there was still an opportunity for that. Not that _she_ ever did.

 

Ed made sure to never waste money on things he thought were useless. On things he thought she'd enjoy. It's why she only ever went to all those places in her mind. Many, many times.

 

_Daryl?_ she asks softly, looking up at him with a heavy feeling in her heart.

 

He turns to look at her, some distance remaining in his gaze like he's haunted by old ghosts. It makes her wonder if that same look crosses her own face whenever she's reminded of what was before.

 

_Hmm?_

 

_I'm glad you're here, you know?_ she admits, just a whisper. He must know this already, at least she hopes he does. There's no possible loss here, and still she feels her nerves flutter at exposing herself like this. _That you... That you found me._

 

She's tempted to look away but she fights that urge. Instead locks her gaze with his because he needs to understand that she means every single word with all her heart.

 

Without him... She's not sure where she'd be now.

 

He looks taken aback by her words like she expected he would be. His fingers fidget against his thighs.

 

_Glad I found ya too,_ he rasps then, the simple words sending a rush of warmth through her body, her skin tingling from head to toe.

 

It feels like there's something she should say. Something she should do. But all the words melt away as she looks into his eyes - curious, afraid, hopeful. Her heart skips a beat when he leans in just an inch, such a slight movement that it could have been accidental. But it wasn't.

 

He stops though, freezes again. The warmth of his breath feels damp against her skin and almost by instinct her eyes flicker down to his lips.

 

Parted and slightly dry.

 

It would be easy, effortless to lean in and press her lips to his. Suddenly, it's all she can think about. How it would feel to have his arms wrapped around her and the solid warmth of him enveloping her. It's a foreign feeling she hasn't felt in so long that it feels like the first time all over again. The flutter low in her belly. The clammy skin of her palms.

 

God, it would be easy. She wants to. Badly. Realizes that now with so much intensity that her body moves without any prompting from her.

 

Leaning in at a glacial pace, inch by inch, her eyes never leaving his. Almost as if to steady herself she lifts her hand and finds his upper arm, curling around the solid muscle there. Almost immediately, he angles his body towards her fully, the toe of his boot nudging hers.

 

He's close enough for her to see the different speckles of blue in his eyes shimmering in the moonlight. So close.

 

But then he stops.

 

Exhaling softly, his eyes flutter shut and his head drops. It's all that needs to be said for her to understand.

 

He's not ready. And now that her mind clears enough for her to think, she realizes that maybe she isn't either. Maybe this isn't even what they both want. Maybe it's just born out of necessity. There's no one else except for them after all.

 

Deep down, though, she knows that's not true. At least not for her. Daryl... She wants to believe he feels the same. That the same warmth blooms in him right now.

 

But Ed's voice is a constant reminder in her mind. Telling her, hissing at her, shouting at her. That she's plain, undesirable, ugly. That nobody would ever want her.

 

Not even the bullet she put in his brain could truly silence him.

 

Now, those words hit closer to home than they ever have before. Doubt fills her, weakens her knees.

 

But Daryl still hasn't moved away. Is still breathing in the same air as her.

 

_You should try an' get some sleep,_ he murmurs then, and his voice is filled with such tenderness, such affection, such shyness, that it's enough to wash away every dark thought that threatened to eat her alive and make her cower.

 

He's still not brave enough to look at her, but his hand lifts just enough for his fingertips to flutter almost ghost-like against hers.

 

She hums softly in response, but instead of pulling away, she closes what little distance still remains between them. Ever so gently, she leans her forehead against his - mindful not to push things too far.

 

A small, surprised sound passes Daryl's lips, causing her to smile shyly although he can't see it.

 

Just for a moment, she allows her own eyes to flutter shut, and she breathes in the comfort she finds in him. When she pulls away, she lingers before lightly pressing a brief kiss to his forehead.

 

* * *

 

He should have kissed her that night.

 

That's the only thought running through his mind as he drives his knife into the walker's skull only to find another one right on his heels. He's a fucking idiot for thinking about this now as he makes his way through the herd, the stench of the dead thick in the air.

 

He should have kissed her.

 

Should have been braver.

 

He should have taken her with him when he went to check the perimeter.

 

Should have been less afraid for her to be out here.

 

He should have heard the herd coming, seen it coming.

 

Should have known this was bound to happen one day.

 

Now he's here, trying desperately to get back to the car where he left Carol behind - thinking she was safer there than roaming around this small town by his side.

 

He'll never make that mistake again.

 

If he even gets another chance.

 

Hollering her name, he pushes his legs harder, faster, trying to avoid being grabbed or scratched or bitten.

 

With only two bullets left, he keeps his gun tucked away. The crossbow is no use to him now, slowing him down as it slams against his shoulder blades and spine.

 

It's a small herd compared to what they've seen, but too many for them to control now that they're stuck in the middle of it.

 

All he can do is hope that Carol noticed in time and hid somewhere, that she got away.

 

_Carol!_ he calls again, the car finally coming into view right where he left it. Parked at the corner to a narrow alleyway.

 

The door is wide open.

 

And then he hears it. His name. A cry over the moans of the dead, and his blood freezes in his veins.

 

There are less walkers here, most of them behind him, following him. But a dozen or so are piling into the alleyway.

 

_Carol!_

 

Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

 

There's blood on his face, guts splattered all over his clothes. The knife threatening to slip from his fingers.

 

Then, with his pulse rushing in his ears, he rounds the corner to the alleyway.

 

He should have kissed her that night.

 

Below the dozen walkers still on their feet are at least a dozen already on the ground. Gone forever. It's a mess of limbs and blood in the small space, but then he sees her.

 

At the end of the alleyway, crowded, caged.

 

She's on the ground, her silver hair speckled with blood, her knife a few feet away from where she can reach. Desperate hands try to push a walker off her but he's big, has a solid grip on her.

 

His rotten face buried in the crook of her neck.

 

_He should have kissed her that night._ That's the last thought Daryl has before her blood-chilling scream tears through the air.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everybody _stay calm_ for now and please don't hunt me down with a pitchfork. Please? Not yet. Not ever.


	8. eight

All rational thought leaves him when he hears her scream. Within a second, he's barreling through the dozen walkers, burying his knife in their rotten skulls, kicking and punching them out of the way.

 

Pure adrenaline drives him forward, and he's deaf to everything except the shrillness of Carol's scream. He doesn't register pain or exhaustion, nothing except for the forward movement of his legs. His fingers tremble as he pulls out the gun, aiming. The shot fires, echoing loudly in the alleyway and he knows it'll draw them all here. But there's no time. He just needed to get close enough.

 

The walker collapses on top of Carol, blood and brains speckled all over her chest as she weakly shoves at it. Daryl gets there fast, ducking to avoid being grabbed, scratched, taken.

 

Grunting, he kicks the walker off of her. It's heavy, much too heavy for her to move on her own and it slumps to the ground, empty eyes staring at the sky.

 

Maybe everything is fine now. Maybe he wasn't too late.

 

_Daryl,_ Carol whimpers then, barely audible over the moans of the remaining walkers approaching them. One look down at her and Daryl feels his blood freezing in his veins. Her shirt is torn at the shoulder, the fabric drenched in blood. The skin revealed below is ripped apart, torn out.

 

Weakly, she lifts her hand, just an inch above the ground before dropping it again.

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Daryl kneels down, sliding his hands under her knees and shoulders and lifting her easily off the ground. She weighs so little. Feels so breakable in his arms - especially now that her head falls against his shoulder and her arms wrap limply around his neck.

 

_'s gonna be all right,_ he promises hoarsely, knowing it's a lie. But he needs to at least try. Carol doesn't respond, doesn't move against him when he breaks out into a run, heading for one of the buildings across the street.

 

Only a handful of walkers remain, few enough to get past them. But he knows more are coming, the ones he'd brought on his heels and the ones he drew in with the firing of his gun. When he makes it to the end of the alleyway, a swarm of them has already reached the car and so he pushes his legs harder, faster.

 

Glass breaks as he all but throws himself into the window of a small store - cradling Carol to his chest to shield her. He doesn't stop, runs past clothing racks and jewelry displays for the door behind the counter.

 

Praying to a god he doesn't believe in that it's unlocked.

 

It is.

 

The 'private' sign rattles as he rushes inside, walkers already stumbling into the store, and he slams the door shut not a second later. It's not nearly sturdy enough though, and so he scans the small office for anything he can use to barricade it.

 

There's a sturdy looking desk, a chest of drawers. That'll have to do.

 

As gently as he can, he sets Carol down onto the floor, mindful to prop her up against the wall. She makes a soft, shuddering sound, fingers holding on to his neck for a second longer before sliding away in defeat.

 

_Ain't leavin' ya,_ he murmurs, taking just a second to reassure her before making a run for the chest of drawers. It's already next to the door so all he has to do is slide it in front of it, the linoleum floor screeching in protest.

 

But on the other side, he can already hear nails scratching at the door and the weight of the walkers pushing against it rattles the frame. His arms burn as he pushes the heavy piece of furniture, and only now does he notice the blood on his arms, the small cuts from the glass.

 

He ignores it.

 

The drawer is tall enough to almost entirely cover the door, and sturdy enough to hold it but Daryl won't take the risk. Not now. With sweat pearling on his brows he goes for the desk as well, a computer falling to the ground and shattering as he pushes the desk across the room.

 

Nothing is getting in here now.

 

But there's little joy and relief to that thought as he falls to his knees by Carol's side. She's not looking at him, her eyes distant, focused on nothing at all.

 

He has to get her off the ground. That's his first and only thought. He can't allow himself to think about anything else just yet. Slowly, he picks her up again, holding her against him. Warm and alive.

 

It's a feeling he soaks in almost selfishly as he walks them over to the small red couch shoved into a corner. He sets her down on it, supporting her head as he lowers it to the armrest.

 

Finally, her eyes find his. But he can't look at them and face the truth. Instead, he stares down at the bite in her shoulder. Visceral and unforgiving.

 

_Shit,_ he grunts quietly, the reality of this only now truly sinking in. Careful not to cause her more pain, he peels away her tattered, blood-soaked shirt. Revealing more raw flesh. _Carol-_ Her name escapes him as a desperate gasp, and he stops himself. The last thing she needs right now is for him to fall apart.

 

Shaking off the cold wave of dread he feels, Daryl inspects the wound more thoroughly. He got to her quickly and she put up one hell of a fight, so the damage done is relatively small - if the size and depth of the wound actually mattered here. _Ain't deep but...,_ he looks up at her then, at the gentle shake of her head. _Fuck._

 

Ducking his own head, he slams his balled fists into his thighs, unwilling to give up just yet. _Lemme take a look,_ he mutters more to himself than to her, ghosting his fingers over the wound to try and assess the damage. Bastard didn't get her neck. It's a shallow wound that would scar terribly - if there was time for that.

 

But there isn't. It doesn't matter if he can patch up the wound. Even if this was just a scratch - there's nothing he can do for her now. His hands move more frantically, pulling her shirt out of the way. _Should've been there,_ he laments under his breath, the guilt of what he's done curling around his heart like a chain. _Shouldn't have- 'm so sorry._ Pulling the rag from his back pocket he tries to soak up some of the blood. _Here, lemme try an'-_

 

_Daryl,_ Carol interrupts him then. Her voice clearer and more determined than before. When her hand finds his arm, bloody fingers curling around his wrist, he has no choice but to look at her face. _Please, don't,_ she breathes, softly shaking her head. Eyes full of sorrow and fear. _You know what will-_ For a moment, she's silent, looking at him with just as much disbelief as he feels. _Just stop._

 

 

 

There's a small first aid kit in one of the desk drawers. Long expired even before the world went to shit and mostly used up but it's better than nothing. She's going to have to suffer no matter what he does but the least he can do is try and make her comfortable.

 

Clean the wound with the water from his bottle and dress it, prop a folded blanket under her head, crack open the small window for some fresh air. It's too small for them or a walker to fit through anyway.

 

He's doing what he can but it won't be enough.

 

_You should use that for your arms. You're wasting this,_ Carol sighs in protest as he dresses her wound with some gauze, holding it in place with some tape he found in a drawer. She's slowly regaining her strength - was most likely in shock earlier. The wound is small, the blood loss insignificant under the circumstances, and she has suffered through worse.

 

_Ain't a waste,_ he replies. The last thing he needs to hear right now is more proof of how much he screwed up the only good thing he's ever had in his life, how stubbornly he drove it all against the wall.

 

Carol stops trying to move away from his hands, deflating against the couch. _Daryl, I won't-_

 

_I know!_ he hollers, rising up to his feet as the words tear from his throat. Carol's eyes widen as she stares up at him. Surprise. A hint of fear. Shock. Instantly, his shoulders fall and he looks down at his boots. _Shit,_ he curses. He's no better than his old man. Bad temper and all. Almost as if to beg, he sinks down to his knees again in front of her.

 

He reaches out, one hand finding hers and squeezing it tight, relief flooding him when she allows him this touch. _'m sorry,_ he whispers, looking up at her through the strands of his hair that are beginning to grow too long. _Just... Let me try?_

 

Carol's features melt into something forgiving and soft. She doesn't smile, but she does reach out to ghost her fingers over his cheek for a moment. A gesture so small and yet filled with so much remorse and regret.

 

A slight nod is all the answer she gives.

 

Quietly, he finishes dressing her wound and pulls her shirt back into place as best as he can. Looking around the room, he wishes he could give her something else to change into. Something that isn't torn and slick with blood.

 

But there isn't anything.

 

_You couldn't have known._ Carol's words end the silence eventually, cutting through it with all the bitterness that seeps from them like fluid from a wound. Here she is, lost and beyond fixing, trying to hold _him_ together. _I didn't see them coming either._

 

He shakes his head, doesn't want her reassurance.

 

_Shouldn't have left ya behind,_ he grunts, now restless fingers twitching against his thighs. _Y'always going on about that. You were right._

 

How many times did she scold him for putting himself in danger for her sake? How many times did she proof that she was able to defend herself? More than enough and still he refused. Heat rushes into his cheeks and tears begin to burn in his eyes. _Was scared something was gonna happen to ya and now it did anyway._

 

It still feels surreal. Neither of them was naive enough to believe this day wasn't a possibility. And hell, they've had enough close calls in the short time they've known each other. And still, Daryl struggles to wrap his head around the fact that in a few short hours, he'll be all alone.

 

_I tried,_ Carol whispers then, and his heart cracks in half when she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. _There were too many._

 

She sounds almost disappointed and the ridiculousness of that makes him smile bitterly. Taking her hand in his again, he smooths his thumb over her knuckles.

 

_Did a hell of a lot more than just try,_ he tells her, hoping that at least some of the pride he feels for her can be transferred through his clumsy touch. _Saw all 'em freaks ya put down._

 

His words put a smile on her face, but there's no more humor in it than in his own and it vanishes quicker than it had appeared.

 

_Not enough,_ she whispers, eyes flickering down to her shoulder. Her fate sealed.

 

She deserves so much better.

 

Blinking away his own tears, Daryl moves to sit on the couch by her side. She moves to make room for him, leaning back against the cracked leather.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he breathes, holding out his arm for her to slip under. There's no time left for him to be insecure about this, to worry about overstepping lines and misreading her cues. There's no time to fear rejection.

 

Carol doesn't hesitate a second. With a slight pain-induced twitch of her lips she scoots over to him, curling into his side. Tugging her knees beneath herself and resting her cheek against his shoulder with a long, drawn-out exhale.

 

He wants to cry the moment she falls into his arms. Wants to freeze this moment right now, wants to beg for another day with her, another chance. It's an effort to hold back his tears but he wants to remain calm, wants her to find rest and comfort rather than stoke her fear.

 

She must be afraid. He is. More afraid than he's ever been. And he knows fear despite how much he wants people to believe differently. It almost cripples him right now and he can't hide the tremor that wrecks him as he rubs his hand up and down her arm. Soothingly, he hopes, but what the fuck would he know about that?

 

_I'm glad I'm not alone,_ she whispers then, her breath warm against his neck even though she shivers as she speaks. _I always thought- Back when it was just me... I always thought I'd die alone._

 

Her confession makes his chest ache and contract, a pain worse than any belt lash or bullet could ever be. The finality of all this threatens to tear him apart.

 

_Ain't gonna leave,_ he promises, unable to hold back when he presses his lips to the crown of her head. Her hair is so silky soft, curling just slightly and tickling his jaw like feathers. _'m right here._

 

Abandoning her had never been an option, not even at the very start, and he won't run now - not even if he could.

 

Carol nods, her hand finding his where it rests uselessly on his thigh. As she entwines their fingers, she allows her own to ghost over his, drawing lazy patterns into his palm. _When I- Will you do it?_ she asks, the question cold as it lingers mostly unspoken between them. _I don't want to be one of them._

 

Just imagining her as one of them makes him sick. Her pale skin void of all bloody, eyes lifeless and bloodshot, teeth snarling. No more smiles, no more laughter. It's darkness, cold, and loneliness she will leave behind.

 

_Course,_ he rasps, the lump in his throat distorting the word. _Ain't gonna let that happen. Promise,_ he seals it with a kiss to her temple, lingering, breathing her in. Making up for all the chances he allowed to go to waste. It's a poor substitute now but she eases into him, hums softly whenever he touches her.

 

_I'm sorry, Daryl._ Lost in her and his own grief he almost misses her words but once they register, his brows furrow.

 

Gently, he tilts her chin up with his fingers - blood crusting around his nails - until he can look down at her. _What'ya got to be sorry for? Ain't your fault._

 

_It's not yours either,_ she insists despite the turmoil of guilt and blame he feels inside of him. She pauses, watches him with parted lips and a question in her eyes. _You have to keep going,_ she finally says, sounding determined. _Up north. Anywhere. Find a place, just like we talked about._

 

_Carol-_ he tries to interrupt her, but she's quicker. Always has been. Quicker and smarter and gentler and _better_ than him and yet she somehow managed to always make him feel all of that. Quick, smart, gentle, good. Things he never thought he could be before.

 

_Promise me,_ she interrupts him, looking fierce and stern and yet so fragile, clinging to this hope that he'll keep going even after she's gone.

 

He won't part from her with a lie.

 

_Can't promise that,_ he chokes, no longer able to hold back his tears. They spill over slowly, trailing down his cheek and he can see Carol's heart breaking at the sight. _I don't- don't wanna find no place,_ he confesses, moving his fingers from her chin until he holds her cheek in his palm. Instantly, she nuzzles into the touch, her own tears coating his skin as he smooths them away with the rough pad of his thumb. _Not without ya._

 

It's a bone-chilling thought to be left all alone. While he's never particularly enjoyed the company of too many and most people, he found comfort and security within their group and even more with Car ol.  _ He believed what he had with the others was a family. A home. But all that changed when he met her. _

 

Some days, he still catches himself thinking about the others. Wondering if they're still alive and where they ended up. He has no regrets about not going after them into the unknown. But he's reminded of their loss now more than before. Losing them had been something he felt capable of surviving. Losing Carol, however... He can't fathom going on without her.

 

Nothing but a few inches of space separate them and they'd be so easily breached. He could kiss her right now. Brush his lips against hers and hope that she understands everything he can't put into words.

 

Something about the way Carol's eyes flicker down to his lips tells him she wouldn't refuse him now.

 

But not like this. Not because she won't be here with him anymore when the sun rises in the morning.

 

With a sigh and a sob of her name he cradles her against his chest instead, holding her so tight he's sure he's bruising her delicate skin. Close enough for him to feel her body shudder as she cries herself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

It makes no sense. Must be some kind of cruel trick to lure him towards hope.

 

 

 

All night long he stays awake. Until the sun sets and cloaks them in darkness. Until the walkers outside lose interest and stop scratching insistently at the door. Now, they just roam the store outside, moaning the same old tune.

 

But he doesn't listen to that. Instead, all his focus is on Carol. Listening to her every breath to make sure he'll notice when she takes her last. Running his hand across her smooth skin to feel any change in her body temperature, waiting for the fever to claim her.

 

But she keeps breathing steadily, evenly. Tickling his neck. Her skin feels just the way it did hours ago. Not hot, not cold. Just alive.

 

Her heart is still beating, thudding in an even rhythm against his own chest that is grounding and reassuring and so, so confusing to him.

 

The fever should have claimed her by now. But she seems to be in no distress, in no discomfort. Burrowing herself into him deeper, arms wrapped around his stomach.

 

No. It makes no sense.

 

 

 

The soft glow of dawn fills the room. Orange and waxen like candlelight. Birds are chirping outside but otherwise it's completely quiet.

 

Carol begins to stir in his arms, and Daryl tenses a little, fingers twitching against her arm. It takes her a minute to escape the grasps of sleep but when she does, when she cranes her neck and looks up at him from below heavy lids, she seems just as confused as he is.

 

_Daryl?_ she murmurs, voice still laced with sleep, hoarse and quiet. _How long was I-,_ she begins to ask, but then she seems to realize something. Her hand lifts to ghost over his cheek, and then her eyes drift to the window. _It's morning._

 

It's a gasp, an exhale that's warm against his dry lips. It's _real_.

 

_It is,_ he rasps, the words directed at her as much as himself.

 

She seeks out his gaze again, and he takes in the sight of her like a blind man seeing for the first time. The exact pale shade of her skin and the freckles that are so delicately strewn across it. The rosy glow high on her cheekbones, each lash that frames her crystal clear blue eyes. The bridge of her nose and the defined line of her jaw. Every fine line that time has left behind, every tiny little scar that holds a well of memories.

 

She's marvelous. Breathtaking. And somehow, against everything they know, she is _alive_.

 

_Why-,_ she wonders out loud, hand drifting up the bandaged wound on her shoulder and then to her lips, hovering there. _I don't feel... sick._

 

Daryl doesn't tear his eyes away from her for even a second. His arms are both around her now, one keeping her balanced against him where it presses against the curve of her waist. _Ya don't look sick... Didn't burn up all night,_ he explains, almost absent-mindedly ghosting his hand across her forehead before allowing it to drop to the side of her neck. _Nothin'._

 

Shaking her head, Carol seems just as confused as he is and Daryl is grateful for that. _I don't understand,_ she mutters, looking at him in search for answers he can't give.

 

_You're still alive,_ he says instead, exhaling and lowering his head until his forehead is pressed to hers.

 

She welcomes the touch, nudges the tip of her nose against his and curls her arms around his neck. _I am,_ she whispers, the ghost of a smile curling her lips - cautious and hesitant.

 

_Must be immune,_ he murmurs, unwilling to move away from her even an inch. His thumb is trailing across her cheekbone, and this time he catches no tears. _To whatever those fuckers got that kills ya when they bite ya._

 

She ponders the thought for a long time. It's the only logical answer. _Does this mean I wouldn't turn?_ she asks, brows furrowed, her fingers sifting through the hair at the base of his skull.

 

He shudders at the soft touch, sparks of electricity racing through his veins. _Maybe. Might be two separate things._ He can't think straight right now and he sure as hell ain't a doctor. It's doesn't really matter in the end why she's immune - someone was bound to be. All that matters is that they've been given another chance. _You're alive,_ he repeats, drowning in her.

 

_I am._ She nods, leaning just a bare inch forward until her lips just slightly, feather-lightly brush against the corner of his mouth. _Daryl, I-_

 

Before she can say anything else he closes what little space remains between them, pressing his lips against hers properly. She makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat, nearly stumbling backwards but he holds her to him.

 

God, she feels good. Against his lips, in his arms.

 

Then, as quickly as he had initiated the kiss, he pulls away from it. Just enough to look into her eyes - wide and surprised.

 

_'m sorry,_ he mutters.

 

He's no fool. There was no way to misinterpret what she tried to silently tell him. That she wanted to kiss him. Only now he's overcome by doubts that maybe it was just a spur of the moment urge on her part. Either way, he's glad he did it. That he won't live out the rest of his days in regret - no matter what comes next.

 

_Didn't think I'd get the-_

 

It's his turn to stumble a little when Carol presses her lips back against his and knocks the air from his lungs.

 

She's kissing him like it's the only thing she's ever wanted in life - breathless, urgent, eager. One hand curled into his hair and the other clutching his shoulder. Pressing herself against him until he can feel nothing but _her_ everywhere. She's crawling under his skin and he's defenseless. Willing.

 

His heart thunders in the confines of his rib cage almost painfully, his fingers curling tightly around her waist to hold her steady.

 

Every day of suffering in his life was worth it for the chance to live this moment.

 

When she pulls away, it's slow and tender and she leans in for one last, softer kiss that melds her lips against his. His name is just a whisper as she looks at him through her lashes, lips plumb and pink, everything about her so alive.

 

_I get a second chance,_ she whispers, her fingertip tracing the shell of his ear before she leans in and gives him another kiss. Just a peck. Innocent enough but making him dizzy with desire. _I don't want to waste it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everybody okay? 
> 
> :)


	9. nine

 

The sun is high in the powder blue sky, the town glowing and yet only a mild breeze comes in through the cracked window. It's starting to get colder outside. Carol has her arms wrapped around herself, and has been staring out for the better part of the last hour.

 

Daryl watches her, still in disbelief of what happened - of what did _not_ happen. Every second he expects something to change. For her to suddenly burn up, faint, just drop dead onto the floor.

 

There's no way for him to prepare for that, but still his mind spins and spins trying to figure it all out. The much bigger problem almost goes unnoticed - that they're still trapped in here.

 

They have no food, all his water is gone. Sooner rather than later, they need to come up with a plan. But he can still hear the walkers moaning and shuffling behind the door, and God knows how many more remain out on the street - blocking their way to the car.

 

The window is too small for either of them to crawl through. If they don't think of something soon, it won't matter that Carol is still alive. This room could become their grave.

 

_Daryl, look!_ Carol gasps in that moment, waving him over to the window. Her forehead is all but pressed to the glass, eyes wide as he steps up beside her. _They're heading that way._

 

He cranes his neck to see what she sees. Outside, there's a small courtyard, two dumpsters, an abandoned bicycle. But beyond the fence that separates it from the building next door, they're granted a glimpse at the main street where they came from yesterday morning.

 

A large crowd of walkers is moving slowly over there, sparking some hope in Daryl that something distracted them or that they simply lost interest.

 

_Some of 'em might still be out there,_ he warns cautiously, eyes narrowing to make out just how many of them have wandered off in a different direction. _And the ones in the store ain't goin' nowhere._

 

From his periphery he can see Carol nodding and when he turns to face her, she is taking deep, calming breaths. _It's a risk,_ he murmurs, his hand ghosting over her wrist by instinct alone. It's like he craves nothing more than to be near her in any way that he can.

 

She hums in agreement, eyes flickering down to his calloused fingers against her pale skin. _Better than starving in here, don't you think?_ she asks quietly. It's a rhetorical question, really.

 

This might very well be their only shot.

 

_Okay,_ he agrees. Instantly, his heart rate picks up. They made it this far. Failing now would seem like a cruel twist of fate. _We gotta be fast. 'm gonna move the furniture, try an' get some of 'em before we open the door all the way,_ he explains, already gathering the crossbow and his discarded water bottle.

 

Carol stands and listens.

 

_You just run to the car, get inside, I'll be right there with ya._ He stills then, when he sees the worry lines creasing her forehead. He meant what he said. That he regrets leaving her behind and he won't ever make that mistake again.

 

_Here, take this_ , he says softly, pulling a second knife from his boot and handing it to her. His fingers lingering against the palm of her hand for a moment longer than necessary. _Forgot to pick up yours,_ he apologizes, ducking his head. The knuckle knife they'd found for her is still in that alleyway, coated in blood, abandoned.

 

Carol gives his hand a light squeeze. _It's okay,_ she reassures him. Everything is quiet for a moment as she looks at him and his body itches with the need to lean down and kiss her again. But now is not the time.

 

Carol seems to agree, sighing barely noticeably before dropping his hand and nervously eyeing the door. _What if they're still out in the road?_

 

His stomach twists just at the thought of them getting trapped in the midst of all those freaks. There'd be no way out.

 

_Then we go straight back in here,_ he explains. Suddenly, he feels sick. His mouth dry. _Ready?_

 

Carol starts to nod but then shakes her head instead.

 

_Wait,_ she gasps, reaching out to curl her hand around the back of his neck. Her lips meet his briefly but fiercely, tearing a grunt from his throat as his hands grab her waist. When she pulls away, her breath is warm on his flushed skin. _Ready,_ she breathes, her throat bopping as she swallows.

 

God, he wishes they could just stay here. Never leave.

 

But they can't.

 

With a curt nod he turns away from her. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he moves the heavy furniture aside, shuffling and moaning beyond the door telling him he has sparked the walkers' interest.

 

He doesn't turn to look at Carol when he opens the door just a fraction, can't allow himself to get distracted. The first walker's hand reaches through but is easily avoided. His knife finds a home in the bastard's skull a second later, and the body limply falls to the ground as the next one quickly follows.

 

Half a dozen of them have piled up by the time he pulls the door open fully and hollers for Carol to follow him. The store is bathed in sunlight, making it easy to see how many walkers there still are. Plenty, but not too many for them to take on and most of them trip over displays and are slowed down by the narrow aisles.

 

Killing them feels natural by now and Daryl barely slows down, barrels through them with Carol on his heels as they head for the broken window. One surprises him just as he passes the door and before he can even react, Carol buries her knife in the walker's neck. It slumps to the ground by his feet and Daryl meets Carol's eyes, surprised and with a pounding heart.

 

But there's no time.

 

Outside, a few walkers remain between them and the car.

 

_Get in!_ he calls over his shoulder as Carol heads for the car. He takes care of a few walkers along the way, reaching out for him, moaning, gurgling, the stench of them unmistakable in the air. _I'll drive._

 

A second later Carol slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut behind her and he follows without hesitation.

 

The commotion has drawn in more walkers that are pouring into the street, the sight in the rear-view mirror making his stomach churn. He slams the driver's door shut, slides the keys into the ignition.

 

_Go!_ Carol urges, nervously eyeing the approaching walkers in the wing mirror. He starts the engine, relief flooding him as it roars to life and he wastes no second to hit the gas.

 

The car slides over guts and blood but he regains control quickly, racing down the road and around the corner - away from where they saw the herd. Just a minute later they leave the town sign behind, fields replacing brick buildings and the sky stretching out before them.

 

_We did it,_ Carol breathes, looking at him with a cautious smile.

 

_Yeah,_ he rasps with a nod, welcoming her hand as it slides into his own. _We did._

 

* * *

 

The gas station where they stop two hours later has been wiped clean, but that's not why they came here. They still have food and water, enough gas to last them a little longer. They just need a place to stay for now. To think and make sense of things.

 

_Ya still feelin' okay?_ Daryl asks as he cleans the nasty bite on her shoulder with peroxide from their small bag of medical supplies. Carol hisses, her fingers curling around his arm for the briefest moment before she relaxes again.

 

_I am,_ she confirms then, experimentally rolling her shoulder and wincing a little. _It hurts but I'm fine._

 

Daryl nods, focusing on his task. He can't stitch her up so they'll have to make sure to keep the wound as clean as possible for a while. The risk a regular infection brings is now much higher than... He doesn't linger on that thought, on imagining himself stuck alone back in that room. Waiting.

 

_I still can't believe it,_ Carol seems to wonder out loud. She's sitting on a plastic fold out chair he pulled up from behind the counter, her feet restless against the linoleum floor. _This is- I don't even know what to say._

 

Hell, he's not dealing with this much better. Whatever effort he put into appearing strong in front of her has long crumbled like a castle made of sand and he's barely holding himself together. Just wants to crush her to him again and crawl under her skin.

 

_Ain't nothing ya gotta say,_ he murmurs instead, rummaging through the bag for a fresh bandage. _'m just glad ya still here._ The words shouldn't be so hard to say anymore but they are. Barely pass his lips and drive heat into his cheeks. But he meets her gaze anyway. Stands his ground against his own insecurities. _Really._

 

Carol's fingers ghost up to his cheek, feather-lightly mapping out the arch of his lips and he sighs, leaning into the touch - completely starved for it in a way he refused to acknowledge all his life.

 

_Did you mean what you said?_ she asks on a whisper, a sudden burst of sadness overcoming her. _That you didn't want to go on without me?_

 

God, he'd hoped she would just forget about that, wouldn't want to dig further. But he can't refuse her an answer and so he nods down at his boots.

 

_Why?_

 

Jesus fucking Christ, he can't do this. Can't talk about what he feels and _why_ he feels the way he does when he never felt this way before. When it's all an incomprehensible mess that makes him angry and afraid and fucking _happy_ all at once.

 

_I don't know,_ he replies truthfully, shrugging his shoulders. _Don't know what you-_ Fuck, he sucks at this. Frustrated, he turns away from her, instantly feeling the loss of her touch. _Just don't wanna be without ya, ya know?_ he murmurs, roaming along the counter. It's covered in dust and broken glass from various displays, blood splatters on the tiled wall accompanying the decaying body they'd found in the restroom.

 

Carol is quiet, listening to his mindless rambling. _Makes no sense._ Almost angrily, he worries the skin around his thumbnail between his teeth. _I should've just-_

 

He almost misses the scratch of the chair across the floor but then Carol is suddenly right in front of him, her hands framing his face and making him freeze.

 

_It does make sense, Daryl,_ she says determinedly, although in her eyes he can see a similar conflict to his own. She hides it better, though, seems more genuine when she leans in to wrap her arms around his shoulders. _It's you and me now, right?_

 

_Yeah,_ he agrees almost comically quick. There's no other option for him now and the fact that his response puts a smile on her face still seems out of this world.

 

_And that makes sense,_ she hums, nudging the tip of her nose against his and sifting her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull.

 

Maybe she's right, he thinks. Maybe it doesn't have to be as complicated as his mind makes it appear to be. He never knew this. Caring so much more about someone else than about himself. Feeling like his heart is out in the open. Feeling so vulnerable.

 

Maybe, if he accepts that she feels the same, it can be easy.

 

_Guess it does,_ he rasps, his hand finding her cheek. He leans in slowly, still worried she might pull away. When she doesn't, when her lips all but melt into his own, her words come true. This does feel as easy as breathing.

 

 

 

_If I hit Hawaii one more time-_ Carol curses, narrowing her eyes at the wrinkly map Daryl had pinned to the wall. The two holes she already left behind on or near Hawaii stare at them mockingly. As if they could ever get there.

 

Daryl chuckles, watching as she holds the tiny little dart bolt between her fingers, the pink feathers at the end tickling her cheek.

 

_Ya got shit aim with that thing,_ he teases, arms crossed on front of his chest as he leans against the wall. It's starting to get dark outside, the light of the sun slowly tinting everything red and orange. The car is well tucked away, and they won't risk any light once the sun has gone down.

 

Carol huffs and narrows her eyes at him, but there's a smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth. _You do it then._

 

Daryl grins, shaking his head. _Nah, go ahead._

 

That earns him a roll of her eyes but he doesn't mind. Instead, he watches as she readjusts her aim and her stance, clearly remembering some of the lessons he'd taught her with the gun after they left the prison.

 

_You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?_ she throws at him, eyes focused on her target - wherever that might be.

 

The dart board in the back office had made them both chuckle earlier. Neither of them has a clue where to go. So, remembering Daryl's joking suggestion from last week, Carol had grabbed one of the dart bolts with a determined grin.

 

_Pff,_ Daryl huffs now, pretending that she doesn't know exactly what he's thinking. _Just throw the damn thing._

 

She does. Takes aim once again and throws it across the small distance. This time, it doesn't land on Hawaii.

 

_Great,_ he grunts, walking over to inspect where the bolt pierced the map. _Landed smack in the middle of fuckin' nowhere._

 

Carol walks up behind him, her hand almost casually pressing between his shoulder blades. God, it feels good, and still his body is conditioned to expect pain and he flinches for a moment.

 

_Just what we need, I guess,_ Carol says softly, not retracting her hand but keeping the pressure of her touch feather light - until he leans into it. Craving more. _Is that West Virginia?_ she asks, eyes narrowed and forehead in wrinkles as she tries to make out the names of any nearby cities.

 

There are none.

 

_Guess that's where we're going,_ Daryl states, feeling a little easier now that they have a destination. Even if it's the complete unknown. _You ever been?_

 

She leans her head against his shoulder, the warm weight of her body pressing into his. _No,_ she replies softly, her free hand seeking his chest and her delicate fingers splaying just above his heart. _First time for everything._

 

 

 

Fuck, he's tired. Only now that he's sinking into the softness of his makeshift bed does his fatigue catch up with him. Almost instantly, his eyes start to burn and his temples throb. The station is locked up tight and they both need the rest, so neither of them had brought up guard duty. Not tonight.

 

Carol slides into her own sleeping bag next to him, the fabric rustling as she tries to make herself as comfortable as possible when comfort is a rare luxury these days. The room is dark except for the moonlight and where they're tucked away behind the counter, Daryl can barely make out her silhouette.

 

She feels far away suddenly.

 

He could easily fall asleep now, but he knows he'll find no rest. Not until he feels her closer to him. Asking for that, though, seems impossible. Even crossing the small distance between them feels like crossing an ocean. It's something he simply doesn't know how to do.

 

_Daryl?_ Her whisper cuts through the silence and he turns onto his side with an affirmative hum. She's looking at him, the sparse light shimmering in her eyes but he's distracted by the hand she holds out to him a second later. _Come here._

 

If the last day had taught him anything, it's not to waste anymore chances. With a fluttery feeling in his stomach and a shudder that runs down his spine he scoots over to her, takes her hand in his.

 

Carol makes a sweet, throaty little sound as she curls into him, her head resting on his chest as he rolls onto his back.

 

He remembers waking up in the cabin with her wrapped all around him. Forever ago. That moment had filled him with something he couldn't put his finger on back then. Now, he welcomes the warmth and the tremble of his fingers, the way being this close to her makes him want to smile.

 

_Is this okay?_ she breathes, edging close enough for her body to press entirely into his side.

 

Looking down at her, he wonders for a moment how she can doubt that this is exactly where he wants to be. But he realizes quickly that he's no better, that she could present herself on a silver platter and he'd still question it all.

 

_Yeah it is,_ he confirms, his hand cradling her head, the silver curls of her hair soft between his fingers. _Better than okay._

 

She meets him halfway as he leans down to kiss her. Gentle, chaste. Not as urgent or breathless as it had been this morning. Now, they cherish the time that they have, noses nudging softly and fingers squeezing, mapping, whimpers and whispers passing their lips until they separate.

 

_Too bad we can't go to Hawaii,_ Carol sighs with a soft laugh, burrowing into him. His arm wraps around her to hold her close, and he can't remember ever having felt more comfortable, more at rest than he does now. _I always wanted to go. Cocktails, beach, the ocean,_ she muses, voice thick and slow with sleep.

 

_Would take ya there if I could,_ he rasps, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

 

She's silent for a long moment, long enough to make him think she's fallen asleep already before she speaks again.

 

_I know you would,_ she whispers, squeezing his hand. _I know._

 

 

 


	10. ten

When he wakes up, the first thing Daryl notices is how damn rested he feels. He barely takes notice of the kinks in his back and shoulders, of the tightness of healing wounds or the slight numbness in his legs.

 

For the first time in months, he feels _good_.

 

Sunlight filters in through the dirty, stained windows of the gas station, dust dancing in the warm rays. God, he actually managed to get a few hours of decent sleep and he needed those badly. He'd be content to stay right here and let his eyes flutter shut again, let the comfortable haze of sleep pull him under for a little while longer.

 

But there's one problem that he can't deny, that threatens to ruin the moment the more he becomes aware of it.

 

Carol is nestled into his side, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso, her leg hitched over his. Her thigh pressing right into his groin and his body reacts by instinct alone.

 

He can feel himself harden against the stiff fabric of his torn jeans, the length of him pressed snug against the inside of Carol's thigh. His first instinct is to bolt but if he moves he risks waking her up and then there'd be no denying his predicament.

 

Instead, he stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, tries to conjure up every thought that might help. Walkers, his dead brother, losing Carol. But nothing helps because every pliable, warm curve of her is melting into him and his lips tingle at the memory of her kiss.

 

Shit, he needs to get a grip. Doesn't even know if she wants him like that. He ain't never been much to look at but sure as hell not now when the last shower he took was back at the prison and his hair hasn't seen scissors since well before the world went to shit.

 

Even if by some miraculous reason she does want him, now is definitely not the time. They might have been given a ruthless reminder that their time together is limited and fragile but he's not going to pressure her or rush her into anything so soon.

 

Not after what he's been able to piece together about her husband.

 

Hell, _he_ ain't ready, either. Hasn't got much experience in the first place and already he's worried about letting her down. His mind spins, making up all sorts of ways he could suck at something that might never happen.

 

At least it helps a little with his problem as he starts to soften a little - except in that very moment, Carol stirs against him. Just barely at first, her fingers curling against his ribs and her nose nuzzling further into his chest.

 

She sighs, slow and sleepy before lifting her head enough to look at him. The sunlight catches on her face, making her skin glow and her blue eyes sparkle. Her lids are still heavy, her cheeks a little flushed - sleep drunk and hazy she smiles at him.

 

 _Hey,_ she whispers, sweet enough to make him forgot about his not so little problem for a second.

 

Just for a second, though.

 

 _Hey,_ he replies, clearing his throat. Suddenly tense and wound tight as a bow string. Carol notices that almost instantly, her brows furrowing.

 

And then she finds the reason why when she shifts against him just slightly. Barely noticable, really, had he not still been hard and pressed right against her. Treacherous and out of his control and he can feel _everything_ \- it's so easy to imagine what she'd feel like. Bare against him. Around him.

 

Fuck.

 

 _I eh-_ he mutters, looking away from her when her eyes widen a fraction and her lips part on a silent, surprised gasp. Nervously, awkwardly, he shifts, his hands coming up to her arms to push her off him as gently as he can. _Gotta- I'm just-_

 

Carol rolls off him then, and from one second to the next not an inch of her is touching him. Not wasting a second, he scrambles to his feet, what little blood remains shooting into his cheeks and his pulse rushing loud as an ocean in his ears.

 

He doesn't turn to look at her and neither does he bother with an excuse. All he can do is kick the blankets away from him and head around the counter and towards the door.

  
  


The wind is colder than he expected. Cold enough to crawl under his clothes and send an avalanche of goosebumps across his skin.

 

He takes a few deep breaths, allows the cold air to fill his lungs as he marches across the small lot. There's a tree towards the exit, the heavy branches almost hiding a road sign that's placed right beneath.

 

Leaning against the tree, Daryl crosses his arms in front of his chest. The road stretches on, the fields beyond it swaying with the wind, glowing in the morning sun. Everything is quiet. Peaceful. Like time just stopped and the world ceased to spin.

 

Maybe that's what happened in some ways.

  
  


Twenty minutes later he hears the creak of the door, and then slow, steady footsteps against the coarse concrete of the lot.

 

He doesn't turn his head until she's right beside him, arms wrapped around herself.

 

For a minute, she's silent. He doesn't know what to say, either, chews nervously on a few excuses and apologies but he swallows them all down.

 

Then, so slowly that he wonders if she's trying not to startle him, she uncurls her arms and her hand finds his shoulder. Gentle, consistent pressure that burns through his clothes as she leans slightly into him.

 

An invitation he can't refuse despite the sense of shame that still throbs inside of him like a festering wound. His arm wraps around her waist to pull her just a little closer and with a relieved exhale she nuzzles into him.

 

 _I made some breakfast,_ she murmurs, looking up at him through her lashes and he holds back the urge to lean down and kiss her again. It's new and unfamiliar, this need to be so close to someone.

 

He nods, even though he doesn't really have an appetite right now.

 

 _It's not much, we need to look for food soon,_ she continues, pressing her cheek to his chest like she always belonged there. It does make him wonder how he didn't wither away without this all his life. Now, it feels like he needs it as much as the air that fills his lungs.

 

 _Can catch us a squirrel,_ he suggests, keeping his tone light. Easing the mood as much as he can although she's doing a much better job at that.

 

Her little huff of laughter isn't unexpected and he can feel the corners of his mouth itching with a grin despite his mood. _My favorite,_ she teases, gently nudging his ribs with her elbow.

 

 _Stop,_ he drawls, squeezing his arm a little tighter around her.

 

Together, they watch the fields sway in the wind for a little while, inhale the crisp air that carries the promise of a change of seasons.

 

_Daryl?_

 

His name trembles a little on her tongue as she speaks and his heart leaps in his chest. That tone tells him she's not about to just drop what happened earlier.

 

He doesn't reply, just stares ahead into the postcard blue sky with a handful of clouds etched onto it. All he does is smooth his thumb back and forth against her waist, mapping out the curve of it. Letting her know he's still with her.

 

 _It's okay, you know,_ she says softly, only succeeding in making him feel more embarrassed. _Earlier. I don't-_ Seemingly searching for the right words, Carol pauses, her fingers drumming lightly against his chest. _I don't mind,_ she finally continues on a rushing exhale that seems to cost her more courage than he realized. _If you don't._

 

She adds those last words quickly and with insecurity laced into every single syllable. Like she's just as worried and uncertain as he is and hell, how could she ever doubt that he wants her? Needs her?

 

The word _love_ sits on the tip of his tongue but it makes him shudder with fear of the unknown.

 

Daryl pulls away a little to look down at her, swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

 _Don't wanna-_ he starts, instantly realizing how wrong that sounded and backtracking before he has a chance to take another breath. _I mean, I do!_ This time, he blurts the words out and that doesn't sound right either. Frustrated, he steps away, lets her arms fall away from him. _It's just- Don't wanna rush or anything,_ he continues weakly, staring down at the cracked concrete. _'s all right if ya don't want to. Ain't gotta do nothin' ya don't wa-_

 

 _Stop._ Her voice is sharp enough to make him startle and face her again. He's nearly knocked off his feet when she crosses the small distance between them - a force of nature as she crashes into him and wraps her arms tight around his neck.

 

The moment her lips press insistently against his own, Daryl forgets all about his embarrassment, his doubts. In a single heartbeat his world narrows down to just her and the taste of her lips.

 

Her eagerness takes him by surprise and he can't keep down a groan when she traces his bottom lip with her tongue. There's no hesitation when he opens up, when her tongue slides against his and her fingers wind through his hair.

 

His skin is on fire, every point where she presses against him hyper aware of the smell and feel of her. It doesn't matter that he can hardly breathe when his arms curl around her waist to pull her flush against him.

 

Fuck, those little sounds she makes, breathless and content, pleased. Something he never thought he could draw from another person.

 

Then, harshly, she pulls away.

 

_Wha-_

 

 _Walker,_ she explains with a nod over his shoulder and still it takes his dumbfounded brain a second to process the single word. One look over his shoulder sends a chill through his veins though. Sure enough, there's a walker heading straight towards them, half his guts hanging out, snarling its rotten teeth in their direction.

 

He takes care of it quickly, but the moment they shared is over.

 

 _Should probably get going soon,_ he says as he wipes blood off his knife, watching Carol with a curious, fluttery feeling deep in his stomach.

 

She's still a little flushed, her lips a little pinker and fuller. But she's weary now, nodding and agreeing with an uneasy sigh.

  


* * *

  


The blue sky has disappeared, replaced by a thick blanket of gray that doesn't seem to ease up, no matter how far they drive. It's bleak, lifeless. It makes the silence in the car so much heavier.

 

Daryl feels restless, his fingers drumming against the cracked leather of the steering wheel. Eyes flickering between Carol and the bright red warning light. He checked the engine after it popped up with a chilling _bing_ but he couldn't find anything wrong.

 

Now, all they can do is make the most of the car while it still works.

 

Carol is leaning against the window, staring out into the fields and woods they pass. Something seems to be heavy on her mind and he hopes, prays, it's not what happened between them this morning.

 

 _Y'all right?_ he asks after a while when the silence becomes too heavy, looking at her cautiously.

 

_Hmm?_

 

She startles a little, turning towards him with a surprised expression like she forgot he was even there. _Yes,_ she replies when she processes his question, offering him a thin-lipped and hardly reassuring smile. _I'm fine._

 

He doesn't believe her.

  
  


_Look, there's a Walmart down the road._ It's the first thing Carol has said in an hour and Daryl nearly steers the car off the road in surprise. He gathers himself quickly though, looking at the large sign that Carol is pointing at.

 

 _Probably wiped clean,_ he mutters, slowing down the car. It's three miles down the road, and he can see the faint outlines of a town beyond the field on the horizon. These places were picked first when the shit hit the fan, so he has little hope of actually getting lucky there.

 

 _Maybe it's worth a shot?_ Carol suggests. _We need new clothes, it's getting colder. And there's always clothes left._

 

She's right about that. Early on, people tended to go for money, electronics. Then, when they realized just how bad things were, they went for food, medical supplies, water. Clothes were mostly left behind because people still had their own back then.

 

A store that size is always a risk, and after last time he's hesitant of approaching a town for the time being. But his jeans are torn and all his shirts stained and Carol is right. It's getting colder and this might be their best shot at preparing for that in time.

 

 _Sure,_ he agrees, trying to ignore the unease he feels heavy like a stone in his guts as he takes a left and drives the car down the road following the sign. _Might get lucky._

  
  


She wasn't wrong.

 

Only a handful of walkers remained in the parking lot and inside the store, taken care of quickly and efficiently.

 

The place had been mostly wiped clean but the clothing section still has plenty to offer for them. It looks like a bomb hit, though. Everything scattered all over the floor in a nonsensical mess but they can't afford to be picky these days.

 

 _See? Told you,_ Carol declares with a proud smile, some of the somberness wiped away and he's grateful for it. Keeping an eye out for any walkers they might have missed he waits as she digs through the piles and racks of clothes. Skipping summer dresses and fluttery blouses and going straight for thick sweaters and coats. _God, this is amazing,_ she sighs, grabbing a discarded shopping basket and filling it with anything useful she can find. _All of my clothes are falling apart. And there's blood on everything._

 

He huffs in agreement, the thought of her blood-stained clothes only reminding him of the reason for it.

 

_Anything for you?_

 

She looks at him expectantly, clutching a soft looking red sweater to her chest.

 

He shrugs, and with a sigh starts to sort through the mess for something that fits him.

  
  


Five minutes later, he has amassed a small pile of shirts, new jeans, a coat and even a few sets of new briefs and socks which he quickly shoves into his bag.

 

 _Better than nothin',_ he says then, relatively content with his new clothes although he wishes he'd have found some thermal underwear for the winter. At least for Carol.

 

 _You should try this._ Carol is holding up a bright red plaid shirt, long-sleeved and soft looking. Like something right out of every cliche he has ever heard.

 

 _Yeah, no way,_ he scoffs dismissively, but she's already shoving it at him.

 

 _Not the time to be picky. It's warm,_ she explains, running her hand along the fabric. _And soft. Here. Give it a try?_ The look she gives him, all big blue eyes and tempting smile makes him weak in the knees.

 

 _Fine,_ he groans, grabbing the shirt. _You're damn stubborn._

 

She just smirks at that, grabbing the red sweater from her own pile to change into. Turning around to offer him some privacy, she starts to shrugs out of her jacket.

 

Quickly, he turns around, granting her the same privacy. His fingers tremble a little as he unbuttons his own shirt. It's torn and stained and smells something awful but still - even though he knows she won't turn around he can't control the fight his body puts up. To take off his shirt with her so close.

 

Up until now, he managed to avoid it. Got changed when she was asleep. Or not at all.

 

But he takes a deep breath, finishing the last button and holding up the damn plaid shirt. It is soft as fuck, he has to give her that. But he's shaking so much that he drops it right onto the floor, muttering a colorful curse under his breath.

 

Only, when he leans down to pick it up he has to turn just a little bit and before he has a chance to look away he's granted a glimpse at the bare expanse of Carol's back. Smooth and pale, the very opposite of his own. Her black bra is a stark contrast but he looks away instantly, already feeling like a perv.

 

After that, he puts on his own shirt in a rush and his new coat on top, warm and comfortable.

 

When Carol grins triumphantly at him, he just snorts and walks away.

  
  


There's barely anything left on the shelves but they walk down all the aisles anyway. Grab some band aids, a bag of potato chips, a roll of paper towels. Carol lets out a sigh of relief when she finds a box of tampons at the back of a shelf and he turns away when she stuffs them into her bag.

 

Except his eyes land on something different that makes him pause.

 

Condoms.

 

An empty spot in the shelf where they used to be, the price tags still staring back at him.

 

Shit.

 

He didn't even think about that until now. All those wondering thoughts he's had all day and he never once considered this. Shit.

 

 _No luck?_ Carol's voice startles him and he backs away from the shelf with flaming cheeks and a ducked head.

 

 _Wasn't lookin' for- Was just- Shit,_ he mutters, scratching is chin until Carol steps up right in front of him. Her hand finding his cheek.

 

 _It's okay,_ she breathes, and then her lips press against the corner of his mouth for a bare second before she pulls away. Looking at him deeply for a moment. A weight to her gaze that makes him crumble.

 

* * *

 

 _You have got to be shitting me,_ Carol groans. Arms crossed tightly around herself, leaning against the passenger door of the car.

 

Daryl wishes he was. Would trade every single supply they posses for the chance to make a joke about this, but it's not.

 

 _'s fried,_ he explains, staring down at the useless engine under the hood. The stench of burnt plastic and smoke fills his nostrils, almost familiar in a way that could be comforting but isn't.

 

 _You can't fix it?_ Carol asks, craning her head to see the damage - her eyes widening when she does.

 

 _With the right parts I could_ , he shrugs, wiping his hands on the rag he keeps in his back pocket. _Don't see no repair shop 'round here though._

 

Quite the opposite, there's absolutely nothing around here. The car decided to bite the dust in the middle of nowhere. An unpaved road through a stretch of woods just in order to avoid a bigger town and the highway.

 

Otherwise they'd been out of the state hours ago. But neither towns nor the highway are ever safe and neither of them had been too keen on taking any more risks too soon.

 

Now, it seems like a foolish, naive idea. Stranded with no means to fix their car, the sky quickly darkening above their heads.

 

 _What now?_ Carol's voice is soft and a little hopeless, defeated in a way that makes him want to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it's all going to be all right.

 

But he won't lie to her like that, not again. Already regrets making her such a promise when he thought she was going to die and he should have known better.

 

False hope is the enemy, always has been.

 

He closes the hood, careful not to make too much noise. They haven't seen a walker for miles but he won't chance it.

 

 _Ain't got much of a choice,_ he says, walking over to Carol and reaching out to take her hand. She squeezes it, slips her fingers in between his own and it's like he was missing pieces until the moment she does. Such a simple, chaste gesture and he feels complete. _We stay here for the night. Then we walk._


	11. eleven

The air in the old trailer smells stale, but at least it provides shelter from the rain that's drumming relentlessly against the rusty roof. Out there, the wind had whipped every drop against their skin like tiny blades.

 

Finding this place, hidden away behind a thick line of trees, had been a blessing. By the time they stumbled through the door, they'd both been drenched to the bone, shivering.

 

Even without that, three days of endless walking are beginning to catch up with them. Daryl can feel the exhaustion in his bones. The soles of his feet burn and his legs feel numb even as he sinks into the sleeping bag and blankets they've piled onto the dusty but otherwise clean looking mattress shoved into the back of the trailer.

 

The place must have been abandoned even before the outbreak. Nothing salvageable is left in the cabinets and drawers.

 

God, he's tired. Even as Carol curls into his side, nuzzling into him almost a little too eagerly, he feels the pull of sleep. It's been frustrating, even he has to admit that. Walking through the middle of nowhere like society had not just been wiped off the face of the Earth but all signs and remnants of it as well.

 

Every stray car they'd found had been beyond salvation.

 

_Ya warm enough?_ he asks, running his hand up and down Carol's back. They'd changed into dry clothes as quickly as possible, but without any source of heat their skin still feels damp and clammy.

 

The last thing they need is for one of them to catch a cold - especially Carol whose wound is still healing slowly.

 

Carol hums, resting her palm over his heart. _It's fine,_ she reassures him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder that sends a tingle down his spine. _You're warm. And soft._ He can hear the smile in her voice and isn't surprised when she looks up with a grin, her fingers toying innocently with the buttons of the damn plaid shirt he'd changed into. _Told you it was worth it._

 

He can't help but chuckle, softly shaking his head.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he murmurs, sliding his hand around her neck until his fingertips find the delicate wisps of her hair. He doesn't pull her close, instead waits until she breaches the distance herself. When her lips meet his, it still feels as overwhelming and brand new as the first time. His entire body responds, every nerve ending buzzing with energy.

 

He didn't expect more than a chaste kiss goodnight, was too tired to even consider anything more. But Carol doesn't pull away. Instead, she melds into him, pressing her chest more firmly into his side until he can't help but feel the swells of her breasts against his chest, soft and distracting.

 

When her tongue traces the seam of his lips, he shudders and can't hold back a small groan. Wrapping his arms around her feels natural, so does pulling her closer until she's almost on top of him, her leg hitched over his.

 

And just like that, it's not innocent anymore. Is more than they've allowed themselves yet, more than they've dared.

 

Carol's breath hitches in her throat as he deepens the kiss, hands holding her hips. It's a loose grip though, and when she grinds them down against him she's met with little resistance.

 

Shit. The small move makes her whimper and his own mind spins as he bucks up into her. Seeking her out, craving more as he starts to grow hard, pressing against her thigh. Unmistakable.

 

This time, running is the last thing on his mind.

 

He only pulls away from the kiss to suck in some much needed air, burying his face in the curve of Carol's neck before she can protest. The skin there is so delicate and soft, and when he presses unsure, experimental kisses there she whispers his name in the most breathtaking way.

 

Neither of them seems to question what they're doing, what they're allowing to happen. They let go of their fears and when Carol grabs his hand and places it on her breast, Daryl doesn't have room in his mind to worry about everything he might be doing wrong.

 

He squeezes her, feels the hard pebble of her nipple straining against her shirt, feels how warm she is where she grinds down on him in small, eager little circles. Feeling brave, he sucks at the skin behind her ear a little, and _fuck_ was it the right thing to do because she moans, her entire body arching into him.

 

But the pleasurable sound turns pained just a fragment of a second later and she hisses, tensing above him. Her shoulder. Shit, he should have been more careful.

 

_Ouch,_ she mutters, pulling away and looking down at her shoulder with a frown.

 

Daryl pulls his hand away from her breast, suddenly feeling awkward about it and placing it gently on her upper arm instead. _'m sorry._

 

She smiles, softly shaking her head and pressing a quick, light kiss to his cheek. _It's okay,_ she whispers, still a little breathless and flushed. _Not your fault._

 

Even though he still feels the persistent throb of desire in his veins, Daryl gently helps her off him until she curls into his side again. This time, she's careful to keep her leg away from his groin, throwing him an apologetic look that he instantly dismisses.

 

_Get some rest,_ he whispers instead, kissing the crown of her head and allowing his body to find some much needed rest.

 

* * *

 

Mud squelches loudly beneath their feet, caking their boots and making every step much harder than it needs to be. The air is still but not offering much warmth with the sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.

 

It should be afternoon by now, but Daryl can't be sure. It all feels like a never ending loop. Every step takes them further away from where they came from and yet seemingly leads to nowhere.

 

Whatever enthusiasm they felt, whatever rush drove them just a few days ago, has faded in the face of exhaustion and hunger. By now, they are dangerously low on supplies - especially on food. They have enough for maybe a day or two at the most. After that, everything is even more uncertain.

 

Carol has been quiet all day, a little lost in thought. Walking by his side, always keeping an eye out. Watchful. He feels pride for her, for how far she's come already. Still, he can't shake the worry that something might be wrong, that something is troubling her.

 

But when his stomach suddenly growls loud enough to lure in any walker that's nearby, Carol laughs softly - a genuine sound.

 

_Shit, I could eat a horse,_ he groans, pressing his palm against his stomach and grinning bashfully when Carol seems amused by him.

 

_What would you eat?_ she asks. _If you could have anything he wanted._

 

His mouth waters just at the idea of that. Everything spins through his mind in over-saturated pictures. Steaks, fries, cheese melting right off a pizza. Shit, he really could eat a horse right now.

 

_A burger,_ he replies then. _Stacked up so high ya can't eat 'em without makin' a hell of a mess. Gimme all that greasy shit. Onions and meat and cheese and whatever the fuck else ya can put on 'em. Bacon, too._

 

Carol rolls her eyes, adjusting the strap of her backpack. _Very creative,_ she teases, bumping her elbow into his ribs.

 

_What'ya gonna have then?_ he asks, curious now. There's still so much they don't know about each other, so many little details that never came up.

 

She doesn't hesitate to answer.

 

_Lasagna,_ she says with a dreadful and mournful sigh, almost like she can taste it on her tongue. _And a chocolate ice cream sundae for dessert. Sophia loved those so much._

 

The mention of her daughter might have sounded casual, but the second the name passes Carol's lips, she tenses. Daryl waits for her to decide how to move forward. If this is going to be another instance of them pretending she never brought her up in the first place.

 

But not today.

 

_We used to get them sometimes,_ she explains quietly, looking ahead down the road with distance in her eyes that comes with memories taking over. He wishes he could see what she's seeing, wishes he could have shared all those moments with her. With _them_.

 

_She always wanted extra sprinkles on top. And whipped cream. And strawberries. Extra everything._ A smile curls her lips that's filled with so much sadness that it makes his own heart clench painfully. Her loss feels more real now than it has so far. Suddenly, he can feel the emptiness Carol's daughter left behind.

 

_Ed... He didn't like it when we had them,_ she continues. There's a shiver that wrecks her body almost as if she's still afraid of the bastard even now that he's gone. _But... it made her so happy when we did._

 

_Bet it did,_ he says with a thin-lipped grin. This is a loss he can not fathom, can never even begin to understand. The details of it are still a mystery to him. But in the end, they don't matter. Her little girl ain't here anymore. That's all there is to it.

 

_I can't- I..._ Carol sighs, her sentence going unfinished. He could just allow silence to take over again but it feels wrong this time. So, slowly, he reaches out his hand to take hers. Gives it a light squeeze.

 

Carol looks up at him, blue eyes watery and curious.

 

_'s all right,_ he reassures her. _Y'ain't gotta talk about 'her. But ya can, okay? If ya wanna._

 

She nods, clearly biting back tears.

 

_I know,_ she whispers, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to his scraped knuckles. _Thank you._

 

* * *

 

Another two days pass without much luck. Every car they come across is wrecked, has no gas, or fails to start no matter how hard they try. The weather hasn't improved much either, rain and cold wind tormenting them.

 

At least they found a few cans of peaches and pineapple in one of the cars this morning, just in time as they ate the last of their provisions last night.

 

But still, their stomachs are protesting and their legs and feet sore.

 

Slowly, Daryl starts to doubt if their plan really was a good idea, and in Carol's eyes he can see the same question start to form.

 

 

 

_I wish they were bigger,_ Carol sighs as she chews on the last few bits of meat from their meager dinner. The fire crackles in front of them, small but offering at least a little warmth. What remains of the ruined shed they found offers some shelter from the wind and thankfully, the rain has stopped.

 

Daryl nods, tossing a tiny bone onto the ground. Damn squirrels. He knows Carol doesn't like to eat them, and man, even he has to admit they're cute little buggers. But they're both so hungry by now that the second he spotted one running up a tree, he didn't hesitate to send a bolt straight through his head.

 

Carol didn't complain once.

 

They shared what little meat it offered and a can of peaches - better than nothing and yet Daryl still feels his body wavering with exhaustion and hunger.

 

Carol sighs, shifting a little closer to him and he curls his arms a little tighter around her, hoping to offer at least a little bit of warmth that the fire can not provide.

 

_I'll take first watch,_ she murmurs.

 

_Y'ain't gotta,_ he's quick to respond, feeling her shiver slightly even in his embrace. Shit, they need to find proper shelter soon before autumn gives way to winter.

 

_Daryl,_ she says, full of insistence. _You need to sleep, too._ There's enough determination in her voice to let him know he doesn't really stand a chance and he doesn't put up a fight. Even though he'd gladly sacrifice his own sleep for Carol to find some rest.

 

_All right,_ he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. The ground is too wet to spread out his sleeping bag and so he tries to find a more comfortable position to sit on the rusty boxes they found and had spread a blanket on top. Hard and unforgiving but at least dry.

 

He tugs his blanket a little tighter around himself, feels the reassuring pressure of his crossbow by his feet, and allows his head to fall back against the wall and his eyes to close.

 

The dark forest around them creaks and howls, a terrifying lullaby that replays in his mind as he slowly, restlessly falls asleep.

 

 

 

Her blood is warm on his hands. Staining them red. Dripping to the ground.

 

Her scream echoes, shrill and slicing through the air like a knife through flesh.

 

He can hear himself whimpering her name but she isn't there. Is nowhere to be seen in the wasteland that spreads out before him.

 

_Worthless._

 

The familiar voice cuts through the silence. Too familiar. Freezing the very marrow in his bones.

 

His father smirks at him. Yellow teeth bared. There's blood caking under his nails. His shirt torn.

 

In the distance, beyond the horizon, his mother screams.

 

Sings.

 

Calls for him.

 

The belt whips along his back, tears open old scars.

 

He wants to scream, but no sound escapes.

 

Another whip. And another. More and more until his spine cracks and he falls to the ground, until he waters it red with his own blood.

 

_Weak._

 

His father spits the words out. Towers over him.

 

Long dead.

 

Still here.

 

Always with him.

 

_Can't keep her safe. Never could. She don't want ya. Never will._

 

One last blow. Just one more. Just-

 

 

 

Daryl wakes with a gasp, still feeling the phantom pain searing across his back. For a few heartbeats, he can see nothing. Is cloaked in silence and darkness and the hands that cling to his arms become his father's.

 

Just as he tries to shake them off, though, everything comes into focus. The thick woods around him. The flames of the fire.

 

Carol.

 

_Carol,_ he whimpers looking down at her. She's wide-eyed, gripping his arms so hard to hold him still. _Carol._

 

_I'm here,_ she breathes, leaning in close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. Warm and real. _It's all right._

 

He falls into her then. His body going from rigid to limp as she wraps her arms around him and catches him. There are no tears as he sobs into the crook of her neck, eyes squeezed shut as he crushes her to him.

 

_It was just a dream,_ she whispers, sifting her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple.

 

He wants to tell her what he saw, what he felt. But already the images are beginning to blur, memories of them slipping through his fingers like sand. Their echo, however, remains.

 

_We'll be fine,_ she breathes, such a fragile promise.

 

He chokes out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. _Need some damn luck. Need- Fuck, Carol,_ he grunts, tears finally flowing and slicking the skin of her neck. With trembling lips he presses a kiss there, lingers. Takes everything she offers. _Just need you._

 

_We'll figure it out, we will._ She seems to have so much faith, even hope, something he's desperately trying not to lose. He wanted so much more for her. A good, safe place without the worries of what to eat or what might hunt them in the night.

 

A place to _be_ together.

 

Carol frames his face in her hands until he has no choice but to look at her. Slowly, her forehead comes to rest against his.

 

_We have to,_ she insists, her thumb smoothing away his tears. _We have to try. And whatever you saw, that's not real, remember? It's not real._

 

He swallows the lump in his throat, still feels his entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all. Nightmares have haunted him all his life. Ever changing. But they haven't been this bad in a long time.

 

_We gotta try,_ he agrees, his eyes fluttering shut. _Gotta try._

 


	12. twelve

One more day. One more day and they wouldn't have made it much further. Barely able to drag their legs along, barely able to carry the packs on their backs.

 

Too hungry, too exhausted to say much more than necessary. Too hungry to find sleep at night.

 

Until they find the abandoned RV by the side of the road. Half-driven into the field, blood spatter on the outside hinting at what transpired here. There's no walker inside or anywhere close, though.

 

God knows when this happened. It doesn't matter.

 

Not when they take a step inside and the world suddenly seems to flip upside down.

 

It looks like someone just stepped outside for a quick smoke, everything still in pristine condition except for the few bits and pieces that are scattered on the floor, likely having fallen when the RV went off the road.

 

The cabinets are still pretty well stocked - canned and boxed food, water, candles, matches, clothes. Everything they need and more presented on a silver platter.

 

_Am I dreaming?_ Carol asks as they take in the sight, standing side by side next to the small kitchen area. Her eyes are wide and wondrous, her face pale and her cheeks hollow.

 

God, they need this.

 

It's like someone finally heard all those silent prayers. Daryl doesn't believe in that, never has. But right now, he's inclined to say thanks to the old man in the sky.

 

_Don't think you are,_ he replies, turning over a box of cornflakes. They're expired and probably stale as shit right now but it might as well be that burger he dreamed of just a few days ago.

 

Hell, it's better than that.

 

It's real.

 

Softly, Carol smiles - almost like she's too scared to allow herself to. Afraid to jinx it all. Afraid it'll disappear like a mirage the moment they allow themselves the comforts of this place.

 

It's a small RV, not much space to maneuver inside. It has a small kitchen area with a gas cooker, sink and small fridge, even a coffee machine is hooked into a socket. There's a bench and table, shelves against the walls holding books, board games and other things in little secured baskets.

 

The bathroom is tiny, useless to them without running water, but a few toiletries are stored in the mirror cabinet and below the sink.

 

At the back, a narrow door leads the way to the bedroom. A queen sized bed is squeezed in there, no room left on either side and no storage space other than cabinets on the walls and custom-build drawers under the bed. It has a thick mattress, a soft looking, blue comforter. A mountain of pillows.

 

Shit, it _does_ all look like a dream.

 

_Daryl-_ Carol breathes, her hand finding his. She seems so utterly relieved, leaning into his side. Letting the weight of all their fears and hardships fall away.

 

With a hum, he kisses the crown of her head, wrapping his arm securely around her.

 

 

 

Two of the tires are busted beyond repair, so they both know that the RV is only a temporary solution. Out here in the middle of the road, it's not save to set up camp for too long.

 

But for tonight... Just for tonight it's all they need and more.

 

They barricade the door, lower all the blinds until just the light of a few candles illuminates the small space. It's relatively warm in the dry, fresh clothes they changed into, comfortable on the leather bench with their feet tucked beneath their tired legs.

 

_Best damn dinner I ever had,_ Daryl announces through a mouthful of food, earning himself a faint smile.

 

He wasn't lying, though.

 

They've got their plates loaded with food. Spaghetti with bolognese sauce, beans, cheesy crackers. A small can of sugared berries for both of them.

 

It's a feast if he's ever seen one. Filling their aching bellies with warm food, the taste exploding on their tongues.

 

Daryl allows himself to find at least a little rest. Feels heavy and slow, his skin tight. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against the paneled wall, eyes fluttering shut.

 

_Wish we could drive this thing,_ he mutters, rubbing his knuckles over his throbbing temple. _Would be perfect._

 

Carol hums affirmatively, and when he catches a glimpse of her, she's looking around them with longing etched into her face.

 

_Me, too._

 

 

 

It's barely past sunset when they climb into bed, burying themselves under the soft sheets and almost instinctively finding each other. He takes Carol into his arms until her face is nuzzled against his neck, her hand fisting his shirt.

 

They should talk about where to head next, should finally make a solid plan rather than wandering around aimlessly, hoping for a miracle. The last few days have taught them the high prize for that hope.

 

But talking is the last thing on his mind right now. Finally, he can allow himself to simply enjoy having her this close.

 

_This is nice,_ she breathes, warm and fluttering against his sensitive skin. There's no hesitation when she presses a light kiss to his pulse point, sighing as if she could feel the ripples of pleasure it sends through his body.

 

His arm tightens around her, fingers tracing her lower back - still a little hesitant about how much he is allowed.

 

_It is,_ he rasps, leaning down to press his lips to hers. It's a deep kiss, eager but slow. He takes his time to taste her, to feel her body stretch and glide against his own.

 

His fingers find their way beneath her shirt, beneath the tank top she wears underneath, until they brush over bare, incredibly silky soft skin.

 

Carol whimpers into the kiss, edging a little closer. Her hands tug at him, everywhere they can reach. His shoulders, his arms, his waist. Roaming over the planes of his body like she's drawing a map of him.

 

The grunt that rumbles deep in his throat is unmistakable and he no longer tries to hide the swell of his erection that's pressed against her hip.

 

With a heavy exhale, Carol pulls away from the kiss, only to trace her fingers over his jawline. She's so delicate with him, cherishing him like he's something precious.

 

Never once in his life has he felt that way.

 

When she curls her hand around his shoulder and pulls, it takes him a second to process what she wants. When he does, he doesn't waste a second to carefully roll her over onto her back. Her legs fall open, and he comes to rest perfectly in the cradle of her thighs.

 

_Shit,_ he hisses when he presses right down against her core, warm even through the denim of their jeans. The way he bucks against her once, twice, seeking release, almost makes him blush. But she doesn't allow him to feel self-conscious. Not even for a second. Instead, she arches up into him, curls her leg loosely around his calf to hold him in place.

 

With a groan he can't hold back, Daryl lowers himself until his chest is pressed flush against hers, taking the skin that's stretched taut over her pulse point between his lips.

 

Carol's hands roam over his back, her neck craned back to give him more room as her hips grind up gently into his. It takes all his willpower not to thrust against her as hard as his body wants him to. Somehow, he succeeds. Focuses on the little breathless gasps that every steady rock of his hips against hers tears from her throat. All he cares about is the way her skin turns warm and flushed beneath his kisses.

 

But it's been too long, much too long and he wants her so much. He's so damn close to exploding. The last thing he wants is to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, though, and ruin the one good pair he has left. Make a mess and humiliate himself in front of her.

 

His brain blacks out as he feels himself nearing the edge, one hand smoothing down over Carol's rib cage and the quivering, flat plane of her stomach until his fingers find the button of her pants.

 

That's when she tenses beneath him.

 

_Daryl, wait!_ she gasps, hands suddenly curled tight around his shoulders, hips pressing into the mattress to put some space between them.

 

_Shit, 'm sorry,_ he mutters, already pulling back to sit on his knees but she's quick to curl her fingers into his shirt and pull him back down.

 

_No, stay,_ she breathes, her hand curling around his neck, fingers sifting through his hair. Instantly soothing him. _Please, it's okay. Stay with me._

 

He tries to keep his hips away from hers now, arms burning already as he holds up his weight.

 

Feather lightly, Carol brushes her lips over the corner of his mouth.

 

_Didn't wanna-_ he starts, still feeling his blood pulsing treacherously. _Didn't wanna rush ya- We ain't gotta-_

 

Her finger pressing softly against his lips silences him and he looks down at her through the mess of his hair.

 

_That's not it,_ she explains, tongue darting out to wet her kiss-swollen lips and _fuck_ , that's not helping at all. _I want to,_ she breathes, eyes a little darker than usual. _But- we can't. We don't have anything._

 

His mind goes blank for a second before he understands and he wants to kick some sense into him for allowing himself to get caught up in the moment like this.

 

_Fuck, 'm such an idiot,_ he mutters, rolling over to lay down next to her. Carol doesn't waste a second to curl into his side before he can pull away again.

 

_You're not,_ she tries to reassure him, her fingers splayed over his cheek. _You're really not._

 

But he is. Never once has he forgotten about a damn condom before. Has never had sex without it, no matter how fucking drunk he was. Those few meaningless fucks he had... Shit.

 

_I could-_ Carol starts, her hand trailing low on his chest until he feels his stomach muscles contracting under her touch. _I could help you out with that,_ she suggests, nodding at his crotch.

 

Just the thought of her pale, soft hand curled around his dick makes his hips jolt slightly off the bed but no. He won't take advantage of her, not unless he can return the favor and he can feel the moment for that quickly fading.

 

_Nah,_ he declines, offering her a crooked, thin-lipped smile. _Y'ain't gotta._

 

She frowns, a hint of insecurity ghosting over her face. _Are you sure?_

 

He nods, reaching down to curl his hand around hers and pull her a little closer into his side. With a sigh, she follows, rests her cheek against his chest.

 

_I never cared much 'bout it, ya know? The whole... the whole sex thing,_ he confesses, struggling to say the words and grateful that she can't see him now.

 

_Me neither,_ she murmurs, her toes gently nudging his ankle.

 

Almost absent-mindedly, he allows his hand to trace up and down her back, over the curve of her shoulder blades and across her vertebrae _Never meant nothin',_ he continues, trying not to feel the cold he used to feel whenever he was with someone. _But I wanna. With ya. When ya ready._

 

He doesn't want her to think he's expecting anything, but he also doesn't want her to believe he's not interested and feed into the insecurities he knows she has - it's a delicate balance to strike and words have always let him down in the past.

 

Not this time.

 

Carol relaxes into his side.

 

_I want that, too._

 

It's almost like a silent promise they are making to each other, sealed with the press of her lips to his chest. He shifts a little, the pressure of his stupid, mindless dick still uncomfortable even as he's slowly softening.

 

_Sure you don't want any help with that?_ Carol asks again, this time with a teasing smirk clear in her voice - fuck, it's difficult to turn her down.

 

_'s fine,_ he grunts, trying to think of something to distract himself. _Survived a lot 'o shit. Blue balls ain't gonna kill me now._

 

Carol laughs at that weak joke, a sweet and genuine sound like he's actually being funny, and not for the first time he finds himself wondering how she's even real.

 

 

 

He wakes up feeling more tired than he did last night. His eyes heavy and his throat too damn dry. Instead of rested, he feels like someone ran him over with a goddamned truck.

 

Carol is already up, the bed next to him empty and cold. He can hear her rummaging around softly in the kitchen, but his body fights his urge to get up.

 

He really needs to pee, though.

 

Sitting up, he tries to stifle a cough against the comforter that's way too warm and soft to abandon - hoping that Carol didn't hear him.

 

If she did, she doesn't comment on it. Instead, she smiles at him when he steps into the living area, already dressed and busy packing up supplies.

 

_Good morning,_ she says, sounding a lot more cheerful and hopeful than she has in a long time. It's contagious to see her spirits up like this, and he has crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind before he can even think about doing anything else.

 

_Mornin',_ he mutters, the word muffled where he presses his face into the softness of her neck - wisps of silver hair tickling his skin.

 

Carol leans back into him, her back flush with his chest. Voice laced with contentment. _I made breakfast._

 

 

 

Two hours later, they are back on the road, every can and box of food they could carry stuffed into their bags.

 

Hoping that this time, luck will continue to be on their side.

 

* * *

 

He's coming down with something, there's no point in denying it. He can feel his body fighting it, every ounce of strength devoted to the effort of keeping him healthy but in his bones, Daryl knows it's in vain.

 

His legs feel numb, his back aches. Every inch of his skin hurts like hell whenever he takes a step or his clothes brush across it. There's that dull throb behind his temples again, relentless and making his vision fuzzy.

 

The dryness in his throat doesn't go away no matter how much water he gulps down, and cold sweat makes his clothes damp although he's trying to hold back a shiver in the cold wind that bites their skin.

 

It's been two days since they left the RV behind and he's starting to feel like he can't take another step forward.

 

Carol's nervous and concerned glances at him haven't gone unnoticed but so far she hasn't said a word. It's because she knows he's trying to pretend that everything is fine. But it isn't.

 

 

 

They're seeking shelter in an empty garage for the night, more rain drumming down on the roof. It's cold as fuck in here, the wind creeping through every crack in the concrete and the thin slit beneath the floor and the door.

 

He insisted on taking first watch, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest against the wall. Staring into dark and swallowing down every cough.

 

_You're sick,_ Carol says after a while, her voice ripping through the silence and nearly making him jump.

 

He doesn't say anything. Not for a while. Not until Carol gets up, her sleeping bag rustling in the dark, and walks over to him. Sinking down on her knees by his side.

 

_Go to sleep,_ she pleads, running her hand over his face, concern burned into her touch, her expression, her posture. _Get some rest._

 

Reluctantly, he has to agree.

 

_All right,_ he replies hoarsely, giving her hand a squeeze. _Wake me if anything's up._

 

 

 

The next morning, they finally, finally find a car. When the engine roars to life, Daryl wants to let out a shout of relief but he can't. He barely has any voice left that goes above a hoarse whisper, his throat and lungs aching with every word he does speak.

 

This is good, though. The car. Sturdy, in decent shape. Enough gas to last them a little while. Shelter from the rain that's looming in the clouds above their heads.

 

Soon enough, it'll fall as snow instead.

 

* * *

 

She should have said something sooner. Shouldn't have allowed him to act so proud.

 

Now, she regrets it. Not speaking up sooner. But he's stubborn and a fool at times and there would have been little use.

 

What could she have done anyway? What little medical supplies they have are useless here. She could sew up or clean a wound, could give him something for his stomach.

 

Not this.

 

They don't even have cough medicine to ease the pain he surely feels as he barks out one cough after the other. Each more jarring and useless than the one before.

 

She finds little rest as they drive down the West Virginia roads, even though she's tired. Every time sleep starts to claim her, Daryl startles her back awake.

 

When he nearly drives the car into a ditch, she yelps, eyes wide. He hits the breaks, hands curled so tightly around the wheel that the white of his knuckles pushes through.

 

They both try to calm their breaths, hearts still pounding and Carol feels her stomach twisting from the jolt of the car.

 

_Let me drive,_ she says calmly but with determination. A part of her almost expects him to decline. To tell her that everything is fine and he just got distracted.

 

But he doesn't. He just nods. Drops his hands into his lap. Defeated.

 

_'m sorry._

 

She doesn't know what he's apologizing for. But it breaks what's left of her heart clear in two.

 


	13. thirteen

Her arms ache and the healing skin on her shoulder pulls tightly as she drags Daryl up the porch steps to the small farmhouse she found. The sky is starting to darken, sunlight failing them and anything is preferable to spending another cramped night in the cold car.

 

The house looks lonely, far away from any town. She can only imagine the kind of people who chose to live in such seclusion.

 

 _Come on,_ she encourages Daryl, supporting his weight as much as her body will allow. But his steps are heavy and slow, his breath rattling and damp, eyes almost closed.

 

Still, he's stubborn. _I can do it,_ he insists, trying to shake her off but nearly losing his balance in the process. With a grunt, she grabs him hard to hold him up. The last thing they need is for him to fall and earn himself a broken bone or a concussion.

 

He's in no shape to heal even the smallest wound.

 

 _Let me help,_ she insists, and he surrenders instantly. Still, she knows he's keeping as much weight off her as he still has the strength to do.

 

The door is unlocked, and she opens it slowly. Takes a look inside the small hallway. Shoes and coats are scattered as if someone left in a hurry. Long ago. Dust has settled on the white wooden bench and the coats that remain on the bronze hooks on the wall.

 

She leads Daryl inside, keeping her ears and eyes open for any sign of unwanted company. She'd have checked beforehand, but was reluctant to leave Daryl behind in the car.

 

 _Here, sit down,_ she whispers, helping him down onto the narrow bench. He groans a little, a pained sound he tries to muffle and by instinct alone she presses her lips to his temple. _I'll go check._

 

He nods, hand lifting weakly to catch her wrist. _Be careful-_ he rasps, hoarse and strained and she can ear the mucus in his lungs rattling. _I can- Just be careful._

 

 _I will,_ she promises, giving his hand a squeeze before he limply drops it into his lap.

 

 

 

Five minutes later she's back - the house is relatively small. A kitchen that opens into the living room downstairs along with a small pantry and bathroom. Two bedrooms upstairs along with the main bath.

 

 _It's empty,_ Carol sighs as she sits down on the bench next to Daryl. He's hunched over, eyes closed. Barely nodding in response. _Literally,_ Carol continues. _Nothing in the medical cabinet._

 

There's a little bit of food left in the pantry, some toiletries in the bathroom but not much. And whoever lived here cleared out all the medicine before leaving in such a rush. All she found was a packet of band aids. Nothing to help Daryl.

 

Every day that passes, she's getting more desperate. Every day, his strength dwindles away.

 

 _We'll find somethin',_ he tries to reassure her, looking up at her. Skin pale, eyes glassy. _'s a good place ya found. Dry._

 

The last few days, it's been raining again, the wind whipping harshly at them. Merciless.

 

With a frown, Carol reaches out to press the back of her hand against Daryl's forehead.

 

 _Jesus, Daryl,_ she gasps, his skin scorching hot to the touch. _You're burning up again._

 

His fever had gone down a little yesterday. They don't have a thermometer, but she'd been sure of it. Now, he's gleaming, his body betraying the effort he puts into trying to appear fine. He's long past fine.

 

 _Gettin' late,_ he grunts, nodding towards the window. Outside, the sky is turning dark blue, not a single cloud obscuring it. This might be the first night of frost and even though this house offers them no remedies for Daryl, it at least offers them shelter.

 

Soon, that won't be enough though.

 

Carol nods. She helps him up then, walks him into the living room. His heavy boots drag over the old wooden floor and then the thick, woven carpet until she helps him down onto the sofa.

 

 _Get some rest,_ she murmurs, smoothing her hand over his forehead. _I'll see about dinner._

 

 

 

 _Ain't hungry,_ he groans an hour later. The light of the fire crackling in the fireplace makes his skin glow and the pearls of sweat on his brows shimmer. He turns away from the spoonful of soup she's holding out for him, forehead in creases.

 

Carol feels her chest clench painfully.

 

 _You have to eat,_ she insists, but reluctantly puts the bowl down on the rustic coffee table. _Keep your strength up._

 

He doesn't reply, doesn't even flinch when she smooths her hand across his cheek.

 

With a sigh, she reaches for the bottle she put down on the floor. _At least have some water,_ she pleads, desperate for him to cooperate. He's so reluctant to accept any help but it's his only chance now.

 

Weakly, he nods. _Here,_ she says softly, sliding a hand under his shoulders to help him sit. The fabric of his shirt is damp and warm, soaked with sweat. _Shit,_ she hisses before he has a chance to take even one sip. _We need to get you out of these clothes._

 

 _Can't..._ he mutters, barely able to hold his eyes open. The sight of him, weak and vulnerable, makes her eyes burn with tears she refuses to shed in front of him.

 

 _I'll do it,_ she promises, putting the water away and helping him into a sitting position. When her fingers go to the buttons on his shirt, though, he flinches, moves to swat them away. He's too weak for that, only succeeds in lifting his hands off his lap. Still, she hovers her fingers. Gives him a moment. _Let me. Please,_ she whispers. She'd beg on her knees at this point. _You can't sleep in this._

 

It takes a few, endless seconds before he nods. It's reluctant and heavy and even before she has the first button undone he turns his head away from her. The expression that's etched onto his exhausted face is humiliation, shame. Something she's familiar with but she doesn't understand exactly why he seems so consumed by it right now.

 

Not until she peels the clammy shirt from his body.

 

He's pale underneath except for the dark tan on his arms that were left exposed in the summer. The skin that's newly revealed to her is almost translucent, a light dusting of hair covering his chest and trailing down to his belt.

 

But that's not all.

 

Scars are littering his skin like constellations are spread across the night sky.

 

Cuts. Tears. Burns. They're _everywhere_ and Carol has to hold in a gasp. Doesn't want to make him even more uncomfortable. Quickly, she grabs a dry shirt from the bag on the floor, mindful not to touch Daryl too much as she guides his arm into the sleeve.

 

He's stiff as a board, eyes shut, still facing away from her. It makes it harder to guide him into the shirt. Already he's shivering, every limb of his body trembling with the fever, the cold and the urge to escape her touch.

 

It hurts to see him like this when just a few days ago he'd craved to be close. Had panted above her, had touched her with such revelry.

 

As she presses him forward a little to spread the shirt across his back, she freezes. Her eyes are, just for the briefest second, locked on the carnage that's been permanently carved into his back. Scars that are much thicker, much longer than the ones on his chest. Criss-crossing from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. Angry and raised.

 

Belt whips.

 

The phantom pain of them shudders down her spine.

 

She swallows the lump in her throat, blinks away her tears as she guides his arm into the second sleeve. Just barely, her fingers ghost over the two demons on his shoulder, spilled in dark ink.

 

Too fitting.

 

Carefully, she eases him back against the sofa, makes quick work of the buttons on his new shirt. Even when she's done, he's quiet. Looks into the fire behind her, the flames dancing in his eyes.

 

He accepts the water silently, gulps down half of it before exhaustedly collapsing back into the sofa cushion.

 

The air around them suddenly feels tense, the silence filled with the crackle of the fire and Daryl's rattling breath.

 

Carol knows this moment is important. Is all too aware of and all too familiar with what he must feel right now. If she gives him room, if she allows him to pull away, then he might never be brave enough to return.

 

So, gently, she crawls up onto the sofa by his side, tucks her legs beneath herself and rests her head on his shoulder. Letting him no she sees no shame in any of it.

 

He flinches for a brief moment, hands balling into fists in his lap until he relaxes them again.

 

 _My old man,_ he croaks then, an explanation she did not need. Everything he ever hinted at, everything she observed about him, it has all fallen into place for her.

 

 _I'm sorry,_ she whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and wrapping her arm around his chest. He's warm, too warm, and she can hear his lungs heaving beneath his ribs.

 

It's still unfamiliar to her, this need to be so close to him. To anyone. Even when she first met Ed, when she thought she was falling head over heels in love with him, it never felt as natural, as all consuming and _right_ as it does with Daryl.

 

 _Me too,_ he rasps then, an apology that spans so much that her heart aches.

 

It only takes another minute before Daryl is asleep. His chest rising and falling beneath her hand, his breath ragged, labored, and loud but even. His body shuddering and twitching as it struggles to fight off the fever.

 

Careful not to wake him, Carol reaches for one of the blankets and spreads it over them.

 

It's warm, dry, and comfortable. Could be perfect. But she doesn't find a minute of rest all night long. Instead, she listens to Daryl's every breath, feels his forehead every other hour.

 

It only seems to get worse instead of better and come morning, she has to help him into a whole new shirt.

 

They leave the farmhouse behind in foolish hope of something better. Of an answer to their silent prayers.

 

But Carol knows as she watches the house grow smaller in the rear-view mirror, that Daryl might not make it through another night.

 

* * *

 

_Shit._

 

Carol stands petrified in the middle of the store, knife in her hand, slowly lowering it.

 

The scarce midday sunlight shines through the small windows above the shelves, offering just enough light for her to see that they came here for nothing.

 

Daryl's fever had gotten worse after barely an hour on the road, making him mumble incoherently in his sleep, fidget restlessly in the passenger seat.

 

She'd pulled over, had grabbed the map out of the glove compartment, desperate and afraid. Taking the risk of driving into the small, nearby town had seemed worth taking if there was anything salvageable left in the pharmacy.

 

But there isn't.

 

 _Shit,_ she repeats on a sharp exhale. The place has been looted. All the shelves have been cleared, some knocked over. Shards of glass crunch beneath her boots, and whatever medicine remained has smashed onto the floor. Liquids have spilled and dried on the tiles, pills are scattered around. Most of them turned into powder beneath heavy boots.

 

There's nothing she can take back to Daryl. Nothing to help him. Nothing to save him.

 

Nothing.

 

 _This can't be happening,_ she mutters to herself, taking quick, shallow breaths that make her vision go fuzzy. Tears gather in her eyes, hot against her flesh despite the harsh cold that has crept into this place.

 

She tries not to cry. Tries to swallow her sobs but she can't. When it all breaks apart, she falls to her knees, knife clattering onto the ground.

 

Useless. It's all useless.

 

He's going to die. No matter how hard she tries, she'll fail him. All this time, he saved her. Back that day in the store, even though she was the one to take the bullet. At the prison. In that alleyway.

 

He saved her life. Saved her from herself. Gave her a reason, finally, to still see sense in living in this world.

 

Whatever affection she pretended to feel during those cautious first few days has long become ingrained into her heart. She hasn't played an act, hasn't worn a mask in front of him in months. It was never insincere. But now, it's more genuine than she has ever felt before.

 

Finally, she starts to feel the spark of something she hasn't felt in so long. Happiness.

 

And it's going to be taken from her again.

 

 

 

 _Nothing,_ she sighs as she slides back into the car, shutting the door behind her. _Nothing that helps us._

 

Daryl is still exactly where she left him. Curled up on the seat, a blanket wrapped around him, shivering. Pale. The gun on his lap which she left for him just in case. She'd been reluctant to leave him behind but by now he's so weak that he can barely move at all. She can't support his weight any longer.

 

One glance into the rear-view mirror tells her she didn't do a particularly good job at hiding her tears. Her eyes are brimmed red, tear tracks have dried down her cheeks.

 

 _Hey,_ Daryl rasps, weakly reaching out his hand for her. He's awake and coherent, but god knows how long that will last. _'s gonna be all ri-_

 

 _Stop saying that!_ she all but shouts at him, silencing him instantly. His eyes widen a little in surprise.

 

She'd regret losing her temper like this, breaking apart right in front of him, but she's beyond caring at this point. _Nothing is going to be all right,_ she says, shaking her head. _You're dying, Daryl._

 

His throat bops as he swallows, glassy eyes fixed on her. Her own tears are beginning to flow again, clinging to her lashes with every blink and spilling over to trail down her cheek. This time, she does not try to hide them from him.

 

 _If I can't- You're going to die and without you I can't-_ Looking down into her lap, Carol kneads her fingers so hard that she can hear the joints crack. Just imagining being left alone again in this world makes her sick. _I don't want-_

 

With a shuddering exhale, she turns to look at him. Voice breaking as she whispers. _I can't lose you, too._

 

She has lost too much already. Losing Daryl... No. She won't make it after that. Won't want to.

 

Daryl coughs, hard and brutal and he winces as the pain shoots through his entire body. She gives him the time he needs to catch his breath. When he does, when the tension leaves his body and he's weak and limp again, he lifts his hand.

 

 _Come 'ere._ His voice breaks, is barely audible but she doesn't hesitate. As best as she can, she curls into his side. She can sense that he wants to wrap his arm around her and nothing would make her feel more secure, but he can't. Is too weak.

 

 _You're strong,_ he murmurs instead. She can feel the vibrations of his voice more than she can hear them, can feel the rattle in his lungs and the wheezing sound as he takes each labored breath. _Remember what ya-_ He coughs again, her tears soaking his blanket as she grips him hard. _What ya wanted me to promise?_

 

That day is hazy in her memory. She can hardly recall how it had felt when she thought she was dying, when she saw the raw pain in Daryl's eyes.

 

She never should have asked him to make that promise - it's only now that she understands that.

 

 _I can't,_ she whispers, nuzzling her face into his neck. Gleaming hot and damp with sweat. _Not you, too._

 

It takes him a few fumbling attempts but then his hand finds hers and his trembling finger entwine with her own.

 

 _I couldn't save Sophia,_ she chokes, the loss of her little girl still a hollow ache in her chest that will never be filled again. _And now you..._

 

His thumb brushes over the back of her knuckles, red and dry from the cold.

 

She can see her. Her blonde hair and freckled nose. Everything that ever mattered.

 

 _She was so terrified,_ Carol whispers, fighting to speak as her throat feels tied up. _Always so frightful. This world... it tore her apart._ Slowly, her tears stop flowing. Sadness and despair turn into a familiar bitterness that deserves no tears. _I couldn't keep her safe._

 

 _Ain't always up to us,_ Daryl responds. He sounds calm, almost like he has already accepted what she simply can not.

 

 _It was Ed,_ she says then. Before she can hold the words back and lock them deep down where she kept them all this time. _He was supposed to keep her safe. They got trapped. Basement. I was upstairs and-_ That day is still so sharp in her memory. Just a few months after everything fell apart. The small suburban house they sought refuge in.

 

She shudders, overwhelmed by the memories.

 

But she continues. Needs him to understand. _I heard her cry down there. Heard the walkers._

 

At night, she can still hear her cry.

 

_She was- she was begging him to protect her. She was crying out for me. And then- I can still hear her scream._

 

Her voice is deadpan now. Still a little muffled and breathless from her tears but somber.

 

_He just- pushed her. Right into their arms. Just so he could get away._

 

Daryl's hand stills against hers, tension stiffening his body for a brief second before is dissipates again. He's not strong enough to maintain it for long.

 

_That night I- I put a bullet through his brain._

 

He'd looked so surprised when she aimed the gun. Had snorted, told her she didn't have it in herself. Laughed right in her face and then he'd been silent. His face just a mess of broken skull and splattered brain.

 

 _But even that couldn't bring her back,_ she breathes, even now still caught between the relief she felt when she killed Ed and the uselessness of it all. She'd been too late.

 

 _She's gone. Because I wasn't there to keep her safe._ Slowly, she pulls away, just enough to look up at him. Dark circles around eyes that drip with sadness. _I can't let that happen again._

 

 _Ya tryin',_ he whispers hoarsely, allowing his forehead to fall against hers. Holding himself up. _'s what matters._

 

Her hand finds his scolding hot cheek. Holds him in place as her lips ghost over the corner of his mouth.

 

_It's not enough._

 

* * *

 

Rain has turned into snow. Slowly, almost hypnotically, it falls from the sky. Melts against the windshield of the car. The gas is almost empty, the little light blinking red. Mocking her.

 

If they don't find a place to spend the night soon... She doesn't want to think about what's going to happen then.

 

Nervously, Carol keeps glancing over at Daryl. He's half awake and half asleep, shivering violently from head to toe, teeth clattering. A wince tears from his throat every now and then, in between coughs that drain him of all energy.

 

He's too weak to even hold himself up in his seat.

 

It's almost over.

 

A part of her knows she should accept that. That she should stop the car, make the last few hours that he has left count and spend them with him. Not with her eyes on the road and her hands clinging to the wheel.

 

She'll regret this. When he's gone.

 

Unable to look at his withering form a second longer, Carol focuses back onto the road - just in time as she passes a large sign.

 

The red paint on it gets her attention and she slams the breaks, jolting forward in her seat a little.

 

Daryl groans in discomfort, eyes fluttering open for a moment. Heavy lidded and fading already.

 

 _What-_ he mutters, panic allowing a brief rush of adrenaline.

 

 _Look!_ she gasps, nodding out the window. _The sign._

 

**STONEWALL RESORT  
**

 

The colors have faded and lack of maintenance has allowed it to weather away. But there's a second sign below, in good shape. Bright red letters that are easy to read even through the snow.

 

_**STONEWALL COMMUNITY  
** _

_Shelter_

_Safety_

_Hope_

 

Her heart beats faster, skipping an occasional beat. There's a fork in the road up ahead, the sign pointing to the left. It's less than 20 miles away - close enough for them to make the drive.

 

 _Could be-_ Daryl starts, a cough cutting him short. He's already fading into unconsciousness again, eyes closed, chest heaving. _-trap,_ he finishes, so quiet that she barely hears him over the engine.

 

 _It might not be,_ she says, pushing away all fears and doubts about what could await them. _It might- Daryl, we have to try._ She turns to him, insistent and suddenly filled with a spark of hope. If there's a community, they might have medication. Doctors. _Daryl-_

 

He doesn't hear her anymore. Mutters something incoherent as his eyes twitch rapidly behind closed lids.

 

For a few seconds, she stares at the sign, snow gathering on the windshield until her vision is too obscured to make out anything.

 

It _could_ be a trap. It _could_ be destroyed.

 

But it could also be their only chance.

 

 

 

It's a short drive through the dense woods, past a small town named Roanoke. Her hands are sweaty against the wheel, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

 

Along the road, there are a few more signs and she follows them, begging silently that something good will be waiting for them at the end of the road.

 

Then again... What do they have to lose at this point?

 

The afternoon light is bleak under the layer of clouds and barren trees, the headlights casting obscure shadows on the road ahead.

 

It should be close now.

 

And then she sees it.

 

Rounding a corner, something comes into view that doesn't quite fit into the thickness of trees and undergrowth. It blends in fairly well, but still she doesn't miss it.

 

A wall. Not too high but sturdy looking, made from metal and wood. A metal gate. Closed.

 

She doesn't drive too close, slows the car to a stop around ten yards away. The engine stutters a little, already sucking up the very last drops of gas.

 

Nervously, she eyes the wall and the gate. She can't see how far into the trees it stretches, can't see anything beyond.

 

Until she makes out movement on top of the gate, a person coming into view.

 

_Carol?_

 

Daryl's whimper catches her attention and she turns towards him. He's glancing out the window although his lids are dropping, and he's trembling so hard she's afraid he'll hurt himself.

 

Reaching across the seat, she takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

 

_It's going to be all right._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay, but I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Stonewall Resort is a real place and you can check it out [here](http://www.stonewallresort.com/)


	14. fourteen

Killing the engine, Carol takes a deep breath.

 

No matter what she promised Daryl, she doesn't know for sure how this is going to go down or what to expect.

 

Slowly, she opens the door, holds her hands up just in case as she climbs out of the car. Fallen leafs rustle beneath her boots.

 

_We need help,_ she calls, still trying to make out more than a silhouette of whoever is standing guard up on the wall. _Please!_

 

She'll beg on her knees if she has to, she knows that deep in her bones. For a moment, it's dead quiet except for the rustling of the trees. Then, making her jump, the gate creaks as it is slowly opened. Just enough for four people to walk out, all of them armed.

 

Nobody, however, is pointing their gun at her.

 

The two men and two women approach her cautiously, eyeing her and the car before coming to a stop a few feet away.

 

_What happened?_ one man asks, eyeing the car with a creased forehead. He's tall with broad shoulders. Intimidating but with a face that promises kindness.

 

_He's sick, he needs help,_ Carol explains, slowly lowering her hands. _If you have doctors or medicine, ple-_

 

_Was he bit?_ one of the women, short and thin with a tight ponytail, asks, interrupting Carol.

 

Quickly, Carol shakes her head.

 

_No, I promise. He's not bit,_ she insists, her heart pounding so fast that she can feel the thud of it against her ribs. _He's just sick, he needs help. Please._

 

The tall man slowly opens the passenger door then, and as nervous as that makes Carol she decides to stand still. Afraid of making a wrong move and ruining the last chance that they have.

 

_How long has he been like this?_ he asks, leaning into the car a little. Daryl isn't moving, might not even be recognizing at this point that a stranger is that close to him.

 

_A few days,_ Carol replies, shuddering. _It's just been getting worse. I looked everywhere but I couldn't find anything to help him._

 

The other woman, younger than all the others and with nearly white blonde hair, nods with a frown. _Yeah, most places around here are wiped clean,_ she says, the sympathy in her voice sounding genuine.

 

Still, Carol isn't going to make the mistake of trusting them too easily - even though she knows she has no choice but to comply.

 

_Can you help us?_ she asks again, this time directing it directly at the younger woman. _Please._ It's a broken sob by now, her voice faltering as tears begin to gather in her eyes.

 

She wishes it was an act, but it's not. At this moment, she's beyond any masks or facades.

 

The woman sighs. _We can't just let you in. There's a procedure,_ she explains. Carol would think it reasonable any other day but right now, it feels like something is crawling under her skin, just waiting to break free in protest. _We have a place where you can spend the night and tomorrow morning-_

 

_Tomorrow morning?_ Carol repeats, a loud gasp, high-pitched and utterly wrecked. _Look at him!_ she insists, taking a step back towards the car. Daryl has sunken into the seat, his breathing shallow. _He won't make it through the night,_ she breathes, the certainty of that feeling as cold as a knife held to her throat. _You have to help him now!_

 

Silence takes over after her plead and instantly she worries that she just crushed it all, that she sealed Daryl's fate because of her outburst.

 

Weak. That's what Ed always called her and she can hear the echo of his voice clearer now than ever before. Pathetic.

 

Maybe he was right, just like she believed all those long years.

 

But it's said and done now.

 

Softer, almost pitiful, she continues, finding no anger in the strangers' eyes. _Please,_ she breathes, wiping a tear from her flushed cheek. _I'll stay- I'll stay behind. Just take him, please._ She makes the suggestion without even a hint of doubt. Would offer up everything at this point to save him. And if only he is to have a place here, then so be it.

 

Her eyes find the tall man by Daryl's side, his face softened with sympathy. _Help him._

 

He sighs, looking down at Daryl's shuddering frame. Something akin to a resolution ghosts over his face and he nods, barely perceptively, a second later.

 

_It's against the rules, Dan,_ the older woman reminds him. She sounds stern but not scolding, doesn't seem to want to just turn them down any more than the other three.

 

_I'm not just gonna let him die right in front of the gate,_ Dan proclaims, looking at the woman with a piercing gaze. _Don't tell me you're okay with that._

 

The woman ponders that for a moment, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She seems torn between her duties and her conscience, finally exhaling sharply and throwing her hands in the air.

 

_Of course not,_ she sighs, and Carol feels her heart skip a beat, her skin coming alive with hope. _If this causes trouble, it's on you,_ the woman reminds Dan, but he just rolls his eyes.

 

_Fine._

 

_Thank you,_ Carol breathes, barely audible.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Daryl has a chance now. Even if it's a fleeting one, there is a flicker of hope.

 

The woman nods, but she still seems wary. Cautious.

 

Carol can't blame her for that.

 

_Leo, come help me out,_ Dan calls a second later, the second man who has been quiet so far rushing over to help. Together, they try to pull Daryl out of the car but he seems to finally register what is happening. With a grunt, he starts to struggle, his body offering up the last bits of strength left as he kicks aimlessly.

 

_Woah, man,_ Dan tries to calm him, but it only makes it worse.

 

_Daryl!_ Carol calls, shocked to see him like this. Utterly terrified, trying to claw his way to freedom. It's a jab to her own heart, and the scars she found littering his body only make her ache more now. Quickly, she rushes around the car, framing Daryl's face in her hands.

 

_It's okay, it's fine,_ she breathes soothingly, and the instant Daryl recognizes her voice, he grows slack. Held up on one arm by each of the two men. Unable to support his own weight. _They're going to help you._

 

He tries to seek her out, heavy eyes fluttering.

 

_Carol-_ he chokes, leaning ever so slightly into her touch when she smooths her thumb over his cheekbone.

 

_You'll be fine,_ she whispers, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. _Just let them help you._ He takes a rattling breath, eyes still searching for her - what trickery he does see, she'd rather not know.

 

_I'll see you soon,_ she promises, her own tears trickling down onto his skin, leaving salty marks behind. She almost pulls away. Almost. Before she realizes that they have been at this crossroads way too many times. How many more chances will she get to tell him the truth? To tell him something she has, deep down, known for a while. What she wasn't brave enough to admit.

 

She won't let him go without knowing it.

 

_I love you,_ she murmurs, so low that she's not sure he can hear her. She doesn't even know if he knows she's talking, if he understands. Still, she presses her lips to his in a feather-light, brief kiss. A parting kiss. She doesn't know if she'll ever see him again. If these people are good and can be trusted. If he'll live through the night even with medical treatment.

 

One more time, she brushes her lips against his. Unresponsive. _I love you, Daryl._

 

He makes a small, unintelligible sound, one that makes her startle for a moment before he's quiet again.

 

As she pulls away from him, she holds back a sob. The loss of him is already spreading through her at rapid speed, sucking the air out of her lungs and making her feel hollow.

 

All she can do is watch as the two men haul Daryl towards the gate. The blonde woman walks up to her then, a kind but sad smile curling her lips.

 

_Come on, we'll find you a place to stay,_ she says softly, but Carol can't move. Petrified, she watches as the gate closes - wondering if she made the biggest mistake of her life.

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, she steps out of the car in front of a small cottage. Not even a mile away from the main gate, tucked away into the forest but with a clear view of a large lake on one side.

 

Once, it must have been beautiful.

 

Now, it's cloaked in moonlight, the stars shimmering on the lake's surface. It could still be beautiful, but Carol has no eyes for that now. The blonde woman steps out of the car after her, her rifle still on her back.

 

_These used to be for rent back in the day,_ she explains, pulling a keychain from her pocket as she leads Carol up towards the cottage. _We use them as outposts now, temporary shelter, that kind of thing._

 

Carol tries to listen, knows she has to make sense of these people. But she can't help but wonder constantly about what's happening to Daryl right now. She hardly even registers the cold air that's creeping beneath the layers of her clothes.

 

The woman unlocks the door and leads her inside, putting her flashlight down on a small end table by the door. _There's the fireplace you can use, some food, too,_ she continues, pointing at the brick fireplace and nodding in the direction of the small kitchen area.

 

But she must have noticed the distance in Carol's eyes and the monotony of her hummed reply. She stops, reaches out a cautious hand to rest on Carol's shoulder.

 

She fights the urge to flinch, to take a step back.

 

_They'll take good care of him,_ the woman promises, and Carol so badly wants to believe her. _We have two doctors. They'll do everything they can._

 

It's reassuring to hear, and so far these people have been nothing but kind to them. Still, Carol can't shake her doubts. After Ed, after what she witnessed at the prison, they are too ingrained.

 

_Thank you,_ she croaks nonetheless, not wanting to seem ungrateful when being courteous and cooperative could make all the difference here.

 

_I'm Stella,_ the woman introduces herself, dropping her hand from Carol's shoulder only to offer it to her.

 

She shakes it.

 

_Carol._

 

Stella nods, eyeing her for a moment. Assessing her.

 

_Nice to meet you, Carol,_ she says eventually, dropping her hand. _In the morning, one of the council members will come and see you and then we'll see how to go on, okay?_

 

Carol already feels anxious, worried she'll ruin it all just the way Ed always told her she would.

 

But he was wrong. He must have been. She hasn't been weak in a long time, maybe never. It's not a word Daryl would ever use for her, she knows that in her heart.

 

Taking a deep breath, she nods, trying to appear less shaken, less afraid, than she actually is.

 

_Okay._

 

 

 

She doesn't sleep for even a second. Instead, she spends all night staring into the flames that crackle in the fireplace. Waiting for dawn when the sun begins to set the calm, peaceful lake on fire.

 

 

 

Although she was waiting for it, the knock on the door startles Carol so much that she nearly drops her water bottle. Her lips are chapped and dry, and she doesn't even remember the last time she drank even a sip.

 

With trembling fingers that she tries to hide, she opens the door.

 

The woman standing there is around her age, pitch black hair pulled into a tight bun. She's wrapped in an enviably thick coat, heavy boots causing the doorstep to creak.

 

Something about her is intimidating, stern despite the polite smile that curls her thin lips. She reminds Carol of a teacher she once had. Kind at heart but always with a facade of grandeur and seriousness about her that was difficult to melt away.

 

_Good morning, you must be Carol,_ she greets, holding out her gloved hand which Carol takes quickly. _I'm Victoria._ The name is fitting, regal in a way that suits her appearance. _I'm one of the council members here at Stonewall._

 

Outside, the ground is covered in frost, glistening in the morning sunlight. Carol already shivers, quickly stepping aside to make room for Victoria to step in and shut the door behind herself.

 

She takes off her gloves and coat, unwraps her scarf from around her neck and drapes it all over the back of the couch. _You caused quite the stir last night,_ she says, not scolding but still it reminds Carol of the scene she must have made.

 

_I'm sorry,_ she apologizes, taking a cautious step forward. _I just wanted help._

 

_So I've heard,_ Victoria replies with a nod. She's looking at her with sharp gray eyes, almost like she's trying to see beyond the layers of skin and deeper inside. It makes Carol squirm, but she stands her ground. _Can't say I don't understand,_ she finally continues, breaking the tense silence.

 

Briefly, Carol considers simply allowing the other woman to steer the conversation. But she needs to know if her efforts were futile or not. Needs the peace of mind, or the closure, of the truth.

 

_How is Daryl?_ she asks, the simple question breathless as it passes her lips.

 

Victoria doesn't use this moment for power play, doesn't stall.

 

_He pulled through, that's the last I heard,_ she says instead, lips curling into the barest, hauntingly reassuring smile. Still, she looks serious. _It was a rough night. But he's got some fight in him._

 

She should have been there. That thought clouds Carol's relief, the utter joy she feels knowing that Daryl is still alive.

 

_When can I see him?_

 

Victoria purses her lips, pointing at the burgundy red armchair by the fireplace. Carol takes a seat there, folding her clammy palms in her lap.

 

Maybe, this isn't such a bad thing. She might not be this meek woman anymore who is afraid of her own shadow. But perhaps playing the part of that, at least to some extend, will help her here. That woman could never be a threat to anyone.

 

_We have a procedure before we let people inside, Dan and the others went against that last night,_ Victoria explains as she sinks down onto the couch. There's a gun strapped to her belt, reflecting the light of the flames. Carol's gaze doesn't linger there. _But we can't just let anyone in._

 

Carol nods somberly. So far, all her thoughts had been of getting help for Daryl. She didn't have room in herself to spend much thought on the fact that they always talked about a place like this. A community. It's what they were hoping to find and suddenly the utter disappointment of potentially being denied that swallows her whole.

 

Victoria seems to notice her unease, quickly backtracking by laughing softly and reaching out her hand - but never making contact.

 

_Don't worry, it's not as terrible as it sounds,_ she chuckles, a small crack in her facade. _I'd just like to ask you some questions if that's all right._

 

_Of course,_ Carol agrees. She assumed as much.

 

Victoria settles back against the sofa, crossing her legs and lacing her hands together. _Where are you from, Carol?_

 

God, what a lifetime ago that was. _Georgia,_ Carol replies, feeling almost nostalgic for the humid heat and the merciless sun. _We're both from Georgia._

 

_Did you and Daryl know each other before all this?_ Victoria continues.

 

With a sadness inside of her that stems from the wish she could answer this question with yes, Carol shakes her head. _We just met a few months ago. He was with another group, he found me during a supply run and took me back there,_ she explains. It feels like recounting something that happened decades ago, not mere months. Back then, everything had been different. _She_ had been different.

 

Victoria frowns slightly. _You were alone before that?_

 

For a moment, Carol considers lying. Making up someone. Changing her story to avoid further questions. There's a risk these people won't be as understanding as Daryl was.

 

_My husband and daughter died,_ she eventually explains, her face set in stone. _Early on._

 

_I'm sorry to hear that,_ Victoria says softly, seemingly genuine. There's a short pause in the wake of that revelation, a little tense until Victoria clears her throat and continues. _What did you do before all this?_

 

_I was a housewife. A mother._ Ed would never allow her to be anything else.

 

Victoria nods, but it's difficult to tell if she likes what she hears or not. Whatever the criteria for that might be. _You said you were with a group,_ she eventually continues, leaning forward a little. _What happened?_

 

_The place where they lived got attacked. Daryl and I got out together,_ she recounts. _We never found the others after that._ There's no need to add that they never made an effort to look. That's nobody's business.

 

_What was it like living in a community?_

 

_Oh, I was only there for a few days and I was injured at the time,_ Carol quickly makes clear. She doesn't know what it would feel like to share her life with a group of people. Even before, Ed made sure she lived an isolated, lonely life. _I didn't meet many of them. But- I supposed there's security in numbers._

 

Victoria doesn't reply to that.

 

_What were you and Daryl looking for?_ she asks instead, her expression more and more unreadable. This could be going good or bad, but Carol has very little means of calculating the outcome.

 

_A place to stay,_ she answers truthfully, although it feels silly. After all, isn't that what everyone is looking for these days?

 

For a minute, Victoria seems to be deep in thought. Looking her over, probably replaying her answers in her mind. This can't be the first time she's been tasked with interviewing a newcomer. She seems efficient, calm.

 

Eventually, she sighs.

 

_Now, Carol. I could ask you the real questions. What your stance on killing is, so on and so forth._ She waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. _But people tend to never really answer truthfully so I won't. I do have one important question._

 

Carol feels her muscles tensing in anticipation.

 

_Do you think you could really, truly believe in a place? In a community?_

 

It's a loaded question, and Carol has a feeling it's the only one that actually matters. The others were just for show, small talk in a way. This is the one that counts, that will decide whether or not she gets to stay.

 

The only answer Carol has is the truth.

 

_I'd like to._

 

She expected a verdict after this but it doesn't come. Victoria doesn't smile, doesn't frown. Nothing on her face gives anything away.

 

When she keeps talking, however, it feels like a good sign.

 

_We have rules here that need to be followed. You can't run a place like this without them._

 

_Of course,_ Carol agrees.

 

Victoria sits up a little taller, the light of the fire catching her bare skin and making her look more like a wax figure than a human.

 

_We allow no violence, theft, or harassment of any kind, that should really be a no brainer,_ she starts, and Carol agrees with a nod. It might be a no brainer to these people, but she knows there's plenty of groups out there that wouldn't care for this rule.

 

Victoria continues. _But we have three very important rules which we like to call the WCR. Weapons, curfew, rations. Everybody needs to stick to them,_ she states, voice full of determination. _Now, we want everyone living at Stonewall to be able to defend themselves out here, so everybody is trained in the use of guns and knifes. But nobody is allowed to carry a gun inside of the hotel, which is where we live._

 

Carol inwardly sighs, knowing Daryl will not approve of this. She can already picture someone trying to take his weapons from him and failing spectacularly. But should they be accepted, they'll have to play by the rules.

 

_When you go outside, you're free to collect your gun from the armory. But no guns inside,_ Victoria says, waiting for Carol's affirming nod. _There is a curfew. Nobody is allowed to leave the hotel after that. We don't want people to get lost or injured and waste search efforts or medical resources on things that could have been prevented._

 

It sounds more than reasonable, and Carol doesn't want to image the logistical nightmare of organizing search parties in this world for someone who wandered off in the dark.

 

_And finally, rations. We grow much of our own food, we have live stock, we have electricity. We've built a good place here but we know we need to control the comforts that we have in order to make them last. So, there are rations on food and shower use, the TVs in the bedrooms don't work. Things like that._

 

For a moment, Carol is distracted by the prospect of fresh food, a hot shower and clean sheets, almost lost in a daydream that she can't afford to waste time on before she pulls herself out of her trance and nods.

 

_But we could go into detail about that later,_ Victoria continues, and suddenly there's a little smile on her face. _Those are the main rules, though. They're not always the most popular._

 

_They sound reasonable,_ Carol says with a shrug.

 

Victoria nods, seemingly happy with that answer and that persistent flicker of hope makes itself known in Carol's chest in spite of the fact that she doesn't trust this woman or this place just yet.

 

Daryl could be dead. It could all be just a ruse. She might be walking right into a trap.

 

But it could also all be true, could be the answer to everything they hoped for.

 

_Now, if you'd like, I could show you around a bit and you could decide,_ Victoria suggests, clapping her hands together. Whatever mask of authority she put on before is gone. There's a smile on her face, kindness etched onto her features, almost a hint of excitement that makes her restless.

 

_Decide?_ Carol asks with furrowed brows, confused.

 

_If you'd like to join us or not._ It sounds obvious the way Victoria says it, but to Carol it sounds almost otherworldly. To be given a choice here. A part of her wants to cry with relief, wants to jump for joy. But still, there's doubt - like a gray cloud that won't leave her, that follows her and casts a shadow she can not escape.

 

It's why she worked so hard to get Daryl on her side back at the prison.

 

Self preservation. The only skill she has had to rely on for too long.

 

_What happens if we don't want to stay?_ she asks plainly, knowing there's no use in beating around the bush with Victoria.

 

She genuinely seems taken aback by the question, though, leaning forward to rest her hands on her knees.

 

_Well, we did help Daryl so we'd like some sort of compensation for the medical treatment he received, but... what is supposed to happen exactly?_ she asks, brows furrowed.

 

It almost makes Carol feel silly for even considering more dire consequences. It took her so long to trust Daryl - who never showed anything but kindness, respect and affection towards her. It's clear enough it'll take her even longer to trust these people.

 

_Nothing,_ she says quickly, waving her hand. _Just- Nothing. If we do decide to stay?_

 

She doesn't know what the decision will be. Needs to see the place, needs to see Daryl. That's most important. She'll make no choice without him and he might not be as charmed by the comforts of this place or as cooperative as he needs to be. He's in a weakened state.

 

He never found a true home at the prison or among the people who lived there, who he shared such hardships with.

 

Sometimes, Carol wonders if perhaps his only reason to make an effort to find a place like this was her. Because he thought it was what she wanted - never giving himself the chance to truly know what he wants for himself.

 

She doesn't know what his answer will be. What her own answer will be. It will have to be theirs. It's _them_ now. Together. That's all Carol knows.

 

Victoria's voice pulls her out of her thoughts, a smile laced into her words.

 

_Then I'll talk it over with the other council members and we'll make a decision._

 

A decision.

 

Yes.

 

That will have to be made.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Carol/Daryl scenes. There were supposed to be more but the chapter turned out so long that I had to move them into the next one.


	15. fifteen

It feels like a different world once they pass the gate. Beyond the wall, everything suddenly seems to settle. To fall into place.

 

Victoria mostly stays silent as they make the walk up to the resort, through a thick forest and past splurging slopes of land that used to be for golfing. Now, Carol can see they are being used to grow crops, some areas are fenced in and she sees cows and pigs and sheep and horses. Some out, some hidden away in their stables.

 

The hotel itself seems almost like a castle as they approach it. Large and imposing, nestled against the shore of the lake Carol saw from the cottage.

 

But it's so different from the many ghost houses she has seen in the last year. It's not abandoned and gathering dust, withering away as the wheels of time and nature beat down on it mercilessly.

 

_How many people live here?_ Carol asks as Victoria leads her inside. Everything is bright and welcoming, warm woods and cozy furniture, plants that breathe life into the space.

 

The large windows grant a look at the lake and a few docks in the distance, the sunlight glistening on the lake's surface.

 

_Almost 150 by now,_ Victoria replies, greeting an elderly woman who passes them with a kind smile. _We've taken in quite a few people over the last few months. We want to keep growing._

 

Carol nods, but she's mostly distracted by everything she sees. They pass a room with the door cracked open, children sitting at desks and listening to a woman telling them about edible and poisonous berries.

 

_Everybody has a job to do here, too,_ Victoria explains, leading her down a hallway past the former reception - the door to the office now boasting the words 'armory'. _It's of course beneficial if everyone pitches in, but it also helps people to see a purpose, you know?_

 

Carol hums in agreement. It makes sense, has never been any different even before the world changed so drastically. People always thrived when they felt like there was a purpose to their existence.

 

_Having something to do and feeling useful, it's an important thing,_ Victoria says with a soft smile, her steps slowing down a little. _I'm sure we could find something for you and Daryl to do here._

 

_Daryl hunts,_ Carol says immediately, figuring it might be a useful skill to offer and judging by the look of delight that crosses Victoria's face, she wasn't wrong.

 

_Oh that's perfect,_ she gasps, smiling wide. _We only have two people currently going out to hunt and between us, they're not the best at it,_ she says lowly, leaning in a little closer as she says it. _There's plenty of deer but they seem to hide from them. They could use some support._

 

It's almost too perfect to imagine. The amenities and luxuries of this place, and the chance for Daryl to get away, to seek the solitude of the woods, the chance to provide and have a place in this community.

 

Victoria leads Carol further down the corridor, pointing to a few rooms here and there used for storage and such. _We all live in the rooms upstairs, so you and Daryl could share one,_ she suggests, but then pauses. _You are- I mean-_

 

_Yes,_ Carol confirms. Without a doubt. She can't put into words exactly what they are, but they're together - they'll stay together no matter what decision they will make.

 

Victoria nods lightly.

 

_Thought so,_ she admits softly. They walk down to round a corner, the white wooden panels still in pristine condition.

 

_Now, as I said, we take rationing seriously. The TVs in the rooms don't work, we do control that people don't leave the light on all night long. And the showers in the rooms don't work, either,_ she continues to explain.

 

It takes many of these rules to make a place like this work and Carol knows that. So far, they all sound reasonable. An adjustment, sure. But after such a long time out on the road, it was never going to be anything less than that.

 

_For that, we use the old spa area,_ Victoria says, pointing towards a sign that leads down a different hallway.

 

Again, Carol feels her body tingling at the prospect of a real shower. More than just a quick wash with cold water and harsh soap. _God_ , how she wants to scrub herself clean, wash away weeks worth of dirt and sweat until her skin is red and raw and new.

 

_Everybody gets two showers a week, that's the deal,_ Victoria reveals with a slight frown, and Carol can imagine this is one of the less popular rules. But it's more than enough to her. An absolute treat that she wouldn't want to sacrifice.

 

_There are, of course, exceptions to all the rules. The construction workers and such are allowed more showers, the guards are allowed to carry guns, that kind of thing._

 

Carol had to hand in her own gun at the gate, but had been allowed to keep her knife. Those, she was told, are allowed inside the hotel - and it made her feel a level of trust that they did not demand her to hand it over as well.

 

She nods, following Victoria until they step into a large room that is high enough to show the slope of the roof. Carol stops in her tracks, amazed by the wide space. Couches are spread all over the room, a large fireplace that flickers and crackles. Bookcases along the walls and a large TV screen on the far wall.

 

Victoria stops as well, giving Carol a moment to soak in the place.

 

A few children are sitting in a corner with large pieces of paper spread out in front of them, drawing and laughing. Other people are curled up on the sofas, reading. Others are talking quietly, laughing.

 

It looks so peaceful. Imagining this place becoming a home is easy, almost frightfully so.

 

_This is our community area,_ Victoria eventually points out, stretching out her arm to lead the way for Carol. She looks up at the high ceiling and all the wooden columns and arches that hold it up. Rustic and sturdy. Everything feels safe but open thanks to the large windows. Secure but comfortable.

 

_We have movie nights here, stuff for the children. We do encourage people to be part of the community._ Carol follows Victoria to the fireplace, the warmth of it seeping beneath her clothes as they sit down in two plush, red armchairs.

 

_We all eat together down in the old restaurant at specific times. But don't worry, nobody is going to drag you out of your room if you'd rather have some privacy,_ Victoria chuckles, a little glint to her eyes that Carol didn't expect.

 

She feels welcomed here in this strange new place, welcomed by a group of strangers. It's tempting not to simply allow herself to be blinded by all the good and ignore the potential bad. There has to be. There always is. But she's willing to find out if the balance is right and the effort worth it.

 

At the prison, she'd been secluded, and while the few people she had met had been kind to her, she never mourned it after they were forced to leave.

 

Daryl did, but not much. She's pretty sure he only mourned the idea of it, the illusion of a home that she only now understands he never truly had before.

 

It only makes her wish harder that this place could be just that for them. For _him_.

 

_It's beautiful here,_ she sighs, hands folded in her lap as she watches the children in the distance. Sophia might have thrived here, she thinks for a moment, but the jab of pain that thought causes is enough for her to shake it off.

 

_We know,_ Victoria says, her face a little more set now. She's back to business, collected and calculated. _We all worked hard to make it what it is today and we expect people to continue to work for it. We all have to pitch in to make it work._

 

It's a group effort, that much is clear. For a minute, they are both silent, and Carol simply allows herself to weigh her options.

 

If they stay, this place could be a home. But still, there's the underlying fear that there's more to this. That something ugly lurks beneath all the beauty and peace. It might just be paranoia, it most likely is. But it's a real risk they'd have to accept.

 

If they leave, if they go back out on the road, she knows they might not make it. Everything that has happened since the day Daryl found her has proven that to her. They might never find that elusive place they were looking for. The perfect sanctuary. This might be their only chance.

 

_Have you made a decision yet?_ Victoria asks then, cautious and in no way pressing.

 

_I...,_ Carol starts, taking a deep breath. _I don't want to decide without talking to Daryl about it._

 

Victoria nods, lips pursed.

 

_Of course. I'll take you to him now, he's in the infirmary._

 

 

 

The infirmary is on on the first floor. Three of the guest rooms combined, Victoria explains on the way up. There are two doctors working there, a general practitioner and a trauma surgeon. They have three nurses as well, and a midwife who joined the community just last month.

 

As they step through the door, Carol doesn't feel like she's in a hotel. There are a few single beds spread out across the room, separated by curtains. Everything looks clean and plain, tools and supplies spread out that seem to come from an actual hospital.

 

A blond man in a white coat turns as he hears them, bend over a desk with a stack of charts piling up in it.

 

_Ah, you must be Carol,_ he says with a welcoming smile and a nod towards Victoria before holding out his hand. _I'm Jonathan, I'm one of the doctors here at Stonewall,_ he introduces himself, and Carol shakes his hand with a nervous flutter in her chest.

 

She's restless, impatient. Desperate to see Daryl again.

 

_How is he?_ she asks, surprised by the breathless sound of her own voice.

 

Jonathan drops her hand, lips forming a tight smile. _He pulled through,_ he reassures her, but his face is a little more somber now, still laced with concern. _I won't lie, it didn't look good for a while. A few more hours and there wouldn't have been anything we could have done for him._

 

Carol exhales in a rush, a heaviness filling her like lead, wearing her down.

 

_But he has some fight in him,_ Jonathan continues, and Carol can't help a shuddering huff of laughter at his words. She nods, so utterly grateful for Daryl's strength right now. _He needs rest, but he'll be fine._

 

Her eyes roam the room, most beds hidden behind curtains and she can't see Daryl in any of them. _Can I see him?_ she asks, hopeful and pleading.

 

_Of course,_ Jonathan says, instantly taking a few steps backwards, his features softening a little. _He's been asking for you. This way._

 

Carol follows him on quick feet towards the back of the room, and when the doctor pulls the curtain aside, her heart skips a beat.

 

He still looks so weak. His skin looks almost transparent against the stark white sheets, cheeks hollow, dark circles lining his eyes. But there's a hint of color starting to work its way back in, slowly, so very slowly.

 

_Daryl,_ she gasps, jolting forward and sitting down cautiously at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips just slightly, and she's mindful of the IV he's hooked up to.

 

For a moment, she's convinced he's asleep, but then he makes a soft, barely audible sound in the back of his throat and his eyes move restlessly behind closed lids.

 

_Carol?_ he rasps, quiet and weak but the sound of it is so comforting and reassuring that tears begin to well in Carol's eyes.

 

She takes his hand in hers, her fingers trembling as they curl around his calloused, cold ones. Slowly, his eyes begin to open, forehead creasing as the light of the room blinds him.

 

_I'm here,_ she whispers past the lump in her throat. The pads of her fingers brush across his knuckles, her free hand reaching up to smooth his hair off his forehead. _I'm here._

 

He leans into her touch as much as he can, tilting his head to the side as he finally seems to focus on her.

 

_Where are we?_ he asks with a hint of concern he can't hide.

 

Carol smiles weakly, tears trailing down her cheeks. There's light shuffling behind her as someone pulls the curtain closed again, granting them some privacy.

 

_I found a place,_ she whispers, leaning down until her forehead is pressed to his. Eyes closed as she cries silently. Overwhelmed. _Like we talked about._

 

Daryl hums, nudging the tip of his nose against hers.

 

_You're going to be all right,_ Carol promises, lips ghosting over his cheek, his jaw, his nose. Finally seeking out his lips for a fleeting, tear-stained kiss. _We could stay here. If you want to. But we can talk about that later. When you're feeling better._

 

It takes Daryl a few seconds but then he nods. Too weak to argue now. Too weak to even listen for much longer. He's already drifting off again, and Carol claws for every second she gets with him.

 

Cautious not to startle him or make him uncomfortable, she pulls herself up onto the bed, curls into his side as gently as she can.

 

The sound he makes, low and content, is accompanied by the slightest twitch of his lips. A faint smile. The kind she's grown so fond of over the last few months. Weakly, his fingers squeeze hers.

 

_Carol?_ he rasps, and she looks up at him, chin propped against his shoulder. Her tears have stained the pale blue shirt he's wearing, soaking through the fabric and still staining her cheeks.

 

_Hmm?_ she hums, her nose pressed against his jaw and she breathes him in. Listens to every beat of his heart and every rush of breath he takes. Beneath her, he's warm and alive and it's more luck than she ever believed she'd be granted again.

 

It takes him a moment to speak again, fighting against the relentless pull of fatigue and exhaustion. But when he does, when he murmurs low and tender, almost shy, Carol feels a fresh wave of tears that she doesn't bother to blink away.

 

_Love ya, too._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, just one more chapter to go after this one.
> 
> [this](http://www.stonewallresort.com/i/SITE_150115_10562382_C1G4M/FlashGallery/SWFGA_150216_15502177_TNBW1/SWFIMG_150216_16161521_1PT6W.jpg) is the community area that Carol and Victoria visisted.


	16. sixteen

**three weeks later:**

 

_Are you sure this is a good idea?_ Carol asks, doing up the buttons of her shirt one by one. It's cold in the room, so she makes quick work of them, goosebumps covering what little of her skin remains bare – making her ache for the warm comfort of their bed.

 

Daryl is already fully dressed, stepping out of the bathroom as the sound of the flush starts to grow more and more quiet. Reaching for the crossbow that's propped up against the wall, he offers her a faint smile.

 

_'m gonna be fine,_ he tries to reassure her, but she's not quick to accept that these days. Not after everything they endured to get here. He's only been out of the infirmary for barely two weeks, still recovering, regaining his strength. But she should have known he'd be stubborn, that being stuck in a hospital bed would not suit him.

 

With a defeated sigh, she crosses the room they share until she's right in front of him, the tips of her socked feet pressing against his dusty boots. Her hands curl around the back of his neck, and he leans down into her without any prompting from her. It's instinctual, the way he seeks her out. In moments like these, at night when she always, always finds herself in the warm cocoon of his arms.

 

_Be careful,_ she breathes, nudging the tip of her nose against his and giving him a quick, tender kiss. _Please._

 

Daryl nods lightly, his arms wrapping around her waist to tug her just a little closer. Her chest flush with his and even through his jacket and vest she can feel the warmth of him radiating, soaking into her own skin. It's something she craves more and more of with every day that passes, but so far, they've been cautious.

 

Taking things easy and slow was the only option they had with Daryl still recovering and Carol coming down with the same sickness that had riddled him just a few days after they arrived here. Chaining her to a bed for three days with a fever that they, thanks to the medical care in this place, were able to keep under control.

 

She feels fine now, but still she worries about Daryl overestimating his strength.

 

_Do you have to go?_ she breathes, raking her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull until she feels him shudder against her. She won't ask him to stay. Knows he has to go out there – not because anyone expects it from him until he's fully recovered, but because being stuck in here with nothing to do is more like a prison to Daryl than anything else could ever be.

 

He nods.

 

_Gonna go mad in here._ He confirms her suspicion, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. _Just wanna check out the place,_ he continues. _Get a feel for it. Ain't gonna be dragging no deer through the woods just yet._

 

Carol's lips curl into a smile. _Promise?_

 

_Promise,_ he murmurs with a smirk, pressing a kiss to her forehead. _Probably won't be back for dinner, so y'ain't gotta wait up for me._

 

With a heavy feeling in her heart, she watches him walk out of their room, the thud of his boots against the carpeted floor in the hallway growing quiet until silence takes over.

 

 

 

The day passes slowly, almost agonizingly so. Her mind consumed with worry about Daryl being out there in the woods all alone keeps her from concentrating. All day long, she's distracted, distant. Barely pays attention to what she's doing.

 

For the last two weeks, she's been helping out here and there for a few days at a time. Trying to find the right place for her to stay permanently. She's been reading to the children, helping out in the classes that are offered here, helped in the pantry, outside with the animals, and now she's spending her third day in the small library – which is in desperate need of a good organizing system.

 

Molly, the self-proclaimed librarian, is an elderly woman, kind and with a gentle heart.

 

She knows why Carol is so preoccupied today and leaves her be. Doesn't talk as much as she usually does and in the late afternoon, sends her back to her room with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

 

Only, up there, Carol feels like the silence and the solitude will eat her whole.

 

She goes for a walk around the grounds of Stonewall. Along the shore of the lake and to see the animals, boots crunching through a fresh layer of pearly white snow. When the sun is beginning to set, she makes her way back, eats a small serving of pasta for dinner which she can barely keep down.

 

He said he might be late.

 

Everything is going to be fine.

 

 

 

Every muscle in her body relaxes when the door to their room opens two hours later. She's already curled up in bed under a thick layer of blankets and with a hot water bottle at her feet, but it's not until she hears Daryl's quiet footsteps that she can truly meld into the sheets.

 

He climbs into bed behind her, a gust of cold air creeping beneath the blanket until he's settled right behind her. Wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close until her back is flush with his chest. His lips find the base of her skull, pressing a delicate kiss there while his fingers entwine with her own.

 

The scent of pine and damp earth fills her nostrils and she inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut. His hair still feels a little damp from his shower, his skin scrubbed clean and soft.

 

_Missed ya,_ he rasps, voice thick with something that makes her tingle, and Carol can't hold back a smile. She turns in his arms until she faces him, their noses touching. With only the moonlight illuminating the room through a crack in the curtain, it takes her eyes a few seconds to adjust.

 

_I missed you, too,_ she whispers, curling an arm around his torso and pressing her lips to his. The taste of their toothpastes mingle as he responds with a groan, fingers pressing into the curve of her waist as she dares to deepen the kiss.

 

Her tongue traces the seam of his lips, eager and hungry in a way that surprises her. She'd been tired, restless. Now, all that nervous energy seems to curl up into a tight ball of desire deep in her guts. Throbbing and hot and it's instinctual when she rocks her hips against his. Just barely. Over and over until he gets the message.

 

A groan vibrates deep in his chest and her nipples harden in response, firm and straining against the cotton of her shirt – dragging over Daryl's chest when he turns her onto her back. He only parts from her for a second, both of them sucking in a much needed breath, before his lips descend to the curve of her throat.

 

It feels better than it has any right to. The way he explores her skin, his hands slipping beneath her shirt to ghost over her quivering stomach and up across her rib cage. Carol finds herself arching into him, pressing her hips up against his where he rests in the cradle of her thighs.

 

_Carol!_ he grunts, the hard outline of his erection pushing against her aching core perfectly and even as he leans up onto the palms of his hands he seemingly can't help but buck into her a little. Hovering above her, eyes dark and hooded, he looks at her with hesitation. _We should- gotta stop._ His voice sounds strained and unwilling to speak the words, arms trembling as he supports his weight.

 

Softly, but with her heart beating a nervous pattern, Carol shakes her head.

 

_We don't have to,_ she murmurs. Shifting herself a little, she reaches for the small drawer in the beside table. Fumbling through it, fingers ghosting over the obligatory hotel bible, a tub of hand cream, a lip palm, tissues and a box of matches, until she finds what she was looking for.

 

Daryl's eyes widen when she holds up the small foil package between them, the moonlight shimmering against the silver. She'd grabbed a few from the medical supply a week ago, blushing when one of the nurses had made a note in the inventory.

 

It was worth it, she thinks now.

 

_Ya sure?_ Daryl asks, breathless and eager all at the same time as he lowly lowers some of his weight back down against her. She craves it, the closeness. Feeling him against her. Softly, she nods. Even though she can't deny how nervous she is, old demons even causing a hint of fear to bubble in her veins, she wants this. Wants him. Needs him in every way possible and she doesn't want to wait any longer. All this time they have wasted and waited and they have to live every day with the possibility that there will not be a tomorrow.

 

They need to live today.

 

_I'm sure,_ she whispers, her free hand finding his cheek. The way he leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, causes warmth to spread through her chest. _Are you?_

 

He makes a sound between a huff and a groan, leaning his forehead down to rest against hers. _Want ya so damn much,_ he mutters, the words sending a spark of need through her body. _'s just- Don't know if 'm gonna be any good._

 

They never talked about how much experience they have. Or what this was like for them in the past. Now doesn't seem the right time, either. In the end, it doesn't really matter. Apart from a few fumbling make out sessions in high school, Carol has only ever been with Ed – which sets the bar pretty low.

 

She smiles softly, burying her hand in his hair to hold him close. _I just want to be with you,_ she whispers, slowly wrapping her leg around his waist to pull him a little closer. _I just want to feel you._ He gasps a little when she rocks against him and she doesn't fare much better. The friction of his hardness against her aching flesh is distracting, all-consuming. _Everything else,_ she continues, voice hoarse. _Practice makes perfect, right?_

 

For a second, Daryl is quiet. Then, softly, he snorts.

 

_Yeah,_ he mutters, tracing his lips over her cheek. _Guess it does._

 

Carol tugs him closer until she can kiss him, deep and languid, making her toes curl. When he pulls away, she almost can't find her words.

 

_Make love to me._

 

Daryl's throat bops as he swallows deftly. Then, he nods, and every muscle in her lower belly contracts with anticipation.

 

She puts the condom down next to them, desperate to have her hands free. To touch him in any way he'll let her.

 

They undress quickly. Both of them still too nervous, too insecure to make a slow show out of it. Under the covers, they shift and wiggle, trying to avoid letting too much cold air into their little bubble. Every now and then, bare skin glides against each other, making them pause and suck in a deep breath until finally, finally Carol shoves the last item of clothing away. Lost beneath the sheets.

 

With the dim light and the covers around them, neither of them can see much. It's better this way, Carol thinks. At least for now. Still, she's curious, wants to take in the sight of him. But to feel him against her when he lowers himself is a hundred times better.

 

She trembles from head to toe when his chest presses against her bare breasts, when his calloused hands ghost over her rib cage, when his narrow hips lock into place against her own. He's hard and smooth against her, still keeping a little distance from where she can feel herself slick and warm. Something inside her still fights this closeness but she pushes it away. Instead, she wraps her arms around him, curls her legs loosely around his.

 

_Please,_ she whispers against his lips. Knowing that if they drag this out too long, chances are that one of them will be petrified by fear or doubt. And that's the last thing she wants to happen right now.

 

Daryl seems to feel no urge to rush through this, though. He lowers his lips to her throat, lingers on her pulse point and mouths at the sensitive skin there as his hand finds the swell of her breast. This is all new to her, the way he's focused solely on her. Spurred on by every moan or sigh that escapes her lips.

 

He pays attention to every response she shows to his touch like he wants to memorize it all. And g _od_ , does it feel good. The way he's dragging his thumb over her nipples, sending little pricks of pleasure down to her core. The way his lips map out every pale inch of skin he can reach, rendering her breathless and needy. The way he's rocking himself against her ever so slightly with slow, stuttering thrusts of his hips.

 

Suddenly, all she wants is to feel him inside of her even though that has never felt good to her before. But the thought of being connected to him like this, as close as two people can possibly be, makes her heart swell and her hands roam over his sides until she reaches his hips.

 

Pulling him down as she tilts her hips up and he's right there, sliding along her slick core and the groan that he muffles in the crook of her neck makes her see stars.

 

_Fuck,_ he murmurs, meeting each tilt of her hips with a grind of his own and much to her surprise, Carol can feel tension building in her core. White and hot and almost unfamiliar because she never felt this way with another person.

 

Blindly, she reaches for the condom, but Daryl's fingers curl gently around her wrist, stopping her. With a frown she looks up at him when he lifts himself onto his elbow.

 

_Ain't no rush,_ he tells her, moving her hand away before letting her go. He looks nervous all over again when his hand ghosts down her side, so soft it's almost ticklish. But then her breath hitches in her throat when he rests his hand just below her belly button. Lingering there.

 

_Can I?_ he rasps, chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

 

Almost frantically, Carol nods. _Please._

 

The moment his fingers find her, she's lost. Her eyes squeeze shut and her lips part with a moan, her body surrendering to him as he touches her. A little aimless, a little uncoordinated. But it feels so, so good nonetheless. Good enough for that tight coil of heat in her gut to tighten even more, enough for her to plead and beg with quiet whimpers.

 

He slides a finger into her slowly, so much thicker than her own, and she meets each of his cautious thrusts. The way he drags against her walls feels beyond anything she ever thought she knew. But it's not quite enough.

 

One of her hands reaches down between them to find his own, tugging softly. _There,_ she moans when his thumb finds just the right spot, her back bowing off the bed when he circles against it. It barely takes half a minute before she feels herself on the brink of her release – so worked up and so taken aback by how _much_ she feels that it hits her completely out of the blue. All the air is knocked out of her lungs as heat washes over her in shuddering, contracting waves, everything too much and not enough at the same time. A silent cry tears from her throat as lights flicker behind her closed eyes, fingers fisting the sheets hard enough to cause pain.

 

Daryl slows down a little, still moving his finger in and out of her, but all too quickly she's overstimulated. With a gasp she moves his hand away, struggling to catch her breath. One look at him and she smiles – he looks so utterly surprised, almost proud. Amazed.

 

_Come here,_ she whispers, holding out a weak, trembling arm and Daryl doesn't have to be asked twice. In a blur he's right on top of her, lips almost bruising against her own as he rubs himself against her.

 

_Can I-_ he chokes, teeth tugging gently at her bottom lip. _That was- fuck, I need-_

 

She answers with a tilt of her hips, the tip of him nudging her entrance and both of them release a strangled sound. It would be so easy for him to slide into her now, and she craves to feel all of him. But she is not ready to take the risk – not now, anyway.

 

With her pulse rushing in her ears, Carol grabs the condom, tearing open the package carefully. Reaching down between them, she's eager to put it on him, to touch him, _feel_ him. But she's barely crazing his abdomen – muscles contracting at her touch – when he stops her and takes the condom from her.

 

A bashful, shy expression on his face.

 

_Ain't gonna last if ya-_ he starts, ducking his head before he can finish the sentence. He's sweet, she thinks, leaning up to press a kiss to his temple.

 

He takes a few seconds to catch his breath and she doesn't rush him. Waits with baited breath as he rolls on the condom and then he's right there. The pressure of him welcome but her body tenses all the same.

 

_Ya wanna stop?_ he asks, voice tense with restraint. Every muscle in his body seems rigid with the effort of not simply pushing into her and she loves him all the more for it. Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head.

 

_Just go slow,_ she whispers, pulling him down for a kiss to distract herself. It's a little sloppy and a little messy but she doesn't care.

 

Her body is still tense, expecting the pain she's grown almost accustomed to. But despite the dull ache of the initial stretch as Daryl slowly pushes into her, there's no discomfort. He's barely more than a few inches inside her when he stops, tearing his lips from her to bury his face against her shoulder instead.

 

_Fuck, Carol,_ he grunts, hands balled into tight fists by her side. _Can't-_

 

_It's okay,_ she gasps, locking her legs tightly around his hips. _You feel so good, please- it's okay._

 

And he _does_ feel good.

 

As he slides all the way into her with one smooth, slick glide, she feels a fullness that spreads through her entire body. He stills, groans her name. Deeper insider her than she expected, knocking the breath from her lungs.

 

But what truly takes her breath away, makes her tremble, is the way every inch of her skin is touching his. Sliding against him as he rocks into her, quick, deep thrusts. He's panting against the side of her neck, completely lost in the feel of her and she smiles contently, lifts her hips to meet his.

 

His body stutters at that, a curse muffled against her skin, and he picks up the pace, thrusts into her a little harder, but still so very gentle. He turns his head, presses his lips to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. _Y'all right?_ he grunts, one of his hands finding hers and lacing their fingers together.

 

She wants to tell him yes, wants to tell him how good he feels – the way he fills her, the way his pelvis grinds against hers – but she can't form the words. Just nods and holds him closer. Surprised that she feels as good as she does, surprised by the realization that she could find her release like this. If she slid her hand down between them, if she touched herself, felt him sliding into her-

 

Her body trembles at the thought but she doesn't get a chance to try it out. Daryl groans above her, thrusts into her harder than before, chasing his own release. It's a erratic and more intense than before and then he stills. Buried as deep as he can go, pulsing inside of her.

 

Softly, she soothes him through it. Ghosts her lips over his temple and squeezes her muscles around him – drawing tiny little grunts from him until finally, his body releases all tension and he sinks into her. The weight of him above her is comforting, his bare skin warm and damp against hers.

 

_Too heavy?_ he murmurs into her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skin there. They'd chosen not to tell anyone about that. At least not so soon. Maybe one day, she'll talk to one of the doctors about it, when she feels like she can fully trust these people. It's all a work in progress for now.

 

She shakes her head.

 

_It feels good,_ she whispers, smiling at him almost in a haze when he leans back enough to look down at her. _I feel good._

 

He looks so happy to hear that, lips curling into one of those crooked little smiles before he kisses her. Slow, chaste compared to what they have just done.

 

_Love ya so much,_ he murmurs against her swollen lips, but before she can reply he turns onto his back and takes her with him. Slipping from her in the progress and leaving her feeling empty. He takes care of the condom, but within a few seconds he's right back by her side. Pulling her into him.

 

Carol rests her cheek against his chest, feeling the slowly calming beat of his heart and ghosting her fingers over his stomach. _How was it out there?_ she asks, already feeling a veil of fatigue and exhaustion settling over her, her body a little sore in the best way she can imagine.

 

_Good,_ Daryl replies, sounding just as tired. His fingers brush up and down her spine, tracing each ridge until he reaches her tailbone, then traveling back up. _'s a good place. Plenty of deer. Woods go on forever._

 

Carol smiles at the edge of contentment laced into his words. The fact that his place can offer this for him means more to her than any hot shower and comfortable bed.

 

_How was your day?_ he asks, lips whispering across her forehead, nose buried in the curls of her hair, a little ruffled now.

 

_I was worried about you,_ she answers truthfully, pressing a kiss to his clavicle. He shudders, so responsive that Carol almost wants to continue a trail down the center of his chest. But maybe they should rest for now, take things easy.

 

Daryl tightens his hold on her. _Come 'ere,_ he murmurs, pulling her a little closer and Carol slips her leg in between his, locking them together. Already, her eyes flutter shut, and she wants so desperately to sink into him and fall asleep in his arms.

 

_Ya glad we decided to stay?_ he asks then, and the genuine hint of concern in his voice makes her pause. Propping her chin up on his chest, she looks at him, brows furrowed.

 

_Yes,_ she replies, truthfully. The last few weeks have proven that to her. _You think you can be happy here?_ she asks, voicing the one concern she's had all along. That he'll feel caged in a place like this, that adapting to the rules and the people would crush him.

 

But so far, he's shown no sign of it.

 

He smiles at her, genuine and content, brushes his thumb over her cheekbone.

 

_Already am,_ he murmurs, sealing the promise with a kiss.

 

 

the end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this last chapter and this story overall. 
> 
>  
> 
> Now, there's something I want to say and I'm going to try and keep it brief. I don't want to make a huge procedure out of this, but I don't want to just disappear into the void either without offering some sort of an explanation. 
> 
> This was my last Caryl fic, or fic in general – very likely ever, but at the very least for a substantial amount of time. There are a few reasons for this, but I don't want to clutter up this post with them. It's a decision I've been contemplating for a few months, going back and forth and changing my mind a few times. But a few weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that this is simply the best decision. Bringing this story to the ending that I had envisioned for it has been my main focus since then and I truly hope that it felt right to you.
> 
> Now, I do want to take a moment to thank you all for the amazing support over the last two years. Writing for this fandom has been such a special, unique, and wonderful experience and I am so grateful for all the sweet feedback and kind words I have received – I truly do not take them for granted and I'm so, so grateful *hugs*


End file.
